


i wouldn't call this a love song

by meredithsays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aromantic Castiel, Asexual Castiel, Asexual Sam Winchester, Asexual Supernatural Mini Bang 2015-16, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobia, Lesbophobia, M/M, Sastiel - Freeform, Singer/Songwriter AU, ace sastiel, ace!cas, ace!sam, acespnbang, aroace!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 59,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6859129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meredithsays/pseuds/meredithsays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has never been in love with anything but music, but when he signs a contract with a recording label on the west coast, he needs to find out how to pretend he has in order to keep doing what makes him happy. A strong proponent of "write what you know," Castiel's at a loss for writing love songs - until his childhood best friend, Sam, volunteers to help him with a little more than just the words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel was the subject of six love songs. He had heard only one of them, written by a girl when they were both freshmen in high school. They sat on the steps outside the building as she nervously strummed a ukulele while describing his dark hair and his bright blue eyes. Castiel liked to think that he had more patience than the average human, even as a freshman, but not even a saint could listen to a chorus comprised of, "Go to winter formal, go to winter formal, go to winter formal with me!" Not six times, at least.

The other songs were all stashed in a shoebox or a dresser drawer. That was the best place for them, in Castiel's opinion.

He had never written a love song. It wasn't a particularly difficult box for him to check. Why write a love song if you've never been in love?

Sitting in a dim cafe, a barista aggressively sweeping around the table where Castiel had set up shop, he was beginning to regret his stance on the subject. He had a notebook full of crossed-out cliches and musical motifs that didn't make any sense within his songs' narratives. He had an almost-empty cup of black coffee. He didn't, however, have a single thing to show the record company.

The industrial decor in the coffee shop had disguised the setting sun, and subsequently the fact that it was ten minutes past closing. Castiel looked up from his scribbles to an entire room of chairs on top of tables. No indie music played over the exposed speakers. Only one light was left on, directly above an employee desperately hoping he'd get the hint.

Castiel apologized, picked up his bag and his notebook, and made for the door. It didn't open. He turned back to the barista sheepishly, pointing at the lock. She rolled her eyes and opened the door for him, waving half-heartedly before shutting the door with a tight click.

Maybe the problem was less the factory-chic environment in the cafe, and more that night never seemed to come in San Francisco. Coffee shops closing at ten o'clock were the grandparents on the block, nestled between all-night grocery stores and Prohibition-themed whiskey bars. It was a stampede of activity all the time, even excluding the nightclubs. Cas felt like this place could give New York City a run for its money, as far as insomnia went.

He wanted to pretend that this didn't bother him. Teenagers packing up everything they owned and heading for the big city was commonplace. There were countless songs and movies and musicals written about people who wanted something more - and this is what that meant. Compared to his own flurried pace of non-stop writing and recording, San Francisco should have felt like home. That honor still went to the Midwest. Castiel never thought he'd miss something quite as trivial as specific store-brand soda or music venues where exclusively terrible bands played for seven dollar tickets.

He walked down the crumbling sidewalk, barely noticing the cars speeding past. Castiel shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and wrapped his fingers around his phone. Maybe he ought to call home. He hadn't talked to anyone who didn't enjoy kale in days.

The thought of his parents' faces the night he left put a stop to that idea almost immediately. "You signed a contract?" "You're going to California?" "You won't make it, Cas." "You don't have what it takes." "Stay here; stay in college." "Stay here; go into accounting like your brother."

No, he wouldn't be calling them to say he was homesick. If they'd expressed any interest in him at all - even after he left a message to say they were releasing his first single - maybe it would be a different story.

As it was, Cas set his jaw and continued walking. He didn't live that far from the coffee shop - which was mostly why he spent all his time there. It was weird, not having obligations apart from music. A little part of him was disappointed that he still wasn't living on his own merit - maybe his parents had a point. A much larger part of Castiel was thrilled that Angel Records had offered to pay for his living space while he got settled in San Francisco in exchange for a larger profit off his first single, “Anna.” He had no reputation, no fans, and it wasn't a love song. Angel had loved it, but they made it very clear that it probably wouldn't be a smash. The deal they'd struck with Cas' living quarters was generous, to say the least.

He had avoided social media all day, terrified of any negative comments about the single. The day something new drops - well. If Cas had learned anything from late night hosts named Jimmy, it was that celebrities shouldn't try and find other people's opinions of them online.

Not that he'd call himself a celebrity.

As his apartment came into sight around the corner, Castiel felt his phone vibrate. His steadfast resolution to ignore anyone trying to contact him that day started to waver as it buzzed again. Definitely a call. Why couldn't businesses just text? He pulled the black waterproof case out of his pocket, ready to hear his numbers from Naomi. His agent/producer/publicist/whatever her actual title was, was the only person he'd ever actually talked to with Angel. Well, her and the stout man who came to hand-deliver the contract while he still lived in Kansas. Naomi was the brains behind it, though. And damn, did she love numbers.

The phone read, 'Sam Winchester.'

It didn't take Cas more than a second to accept the call. "Sam."

"Cas!" He could hear Sam's smile in his name. "I have been trying to call you all day; where have you been?"

Cas shrugged. "Singer’s, that little coffee shop. I haven't been answering texts or going online, in case there were any negative reviews. I will not flatter myself about having a strong and hardy ego."

"Wait, am I the first person you've talked to?" Sam sounded rather pleased with his status. "Have you talked to your people yet?" He said it like a joke, but Cas privately thought it was the best term for the team of professionals who had been assigned to his contract.

"No, you're the first. Why, what's happening?"

Sam let out a little huff of laughter, like he couldn't quite believe it. "You were in a coffee shop all day and you don't know? Don't they have a radio? “Anna” has been playing non-stop. You can't get away from it. I'm a little concerned it'll be overplayed, but I haven't heard anything negative about it at all. I asked Dean - it's all over the radio in Lawrence, too. You are a bona fide hit, Castiel Milton!"

He had expected to be immediately fired for poor performance and poor attitude. He’d expected to accidentally breach his contract through chatting to a fan and letting his next single slip. Cas had been expecting a lot of things from his first day as an official pop star. This had not been one of them. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Call the company - see what they have to say about it."

"There's already a meeting set up tomorrow, to talk about how the release went. It's at nine - there's no way you could pop into town afterwards for coffee or anything, is there? I'd really like to see you." Cas realized belatedly that he'd been standing on the stoop to his apartment complex for half the conversation. He reached into his jeans pocket for his keys. The sad little ring had three keys on it - one for the outside of the complex, one for his door, and a mystery key that seemed to be more for looks than anything else.

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Hold on, let me check my - yeah, I think that'll work. I need to be back here for a group project at four, but that's not a big deal. Plenty of time. Good thing we both moved to California, huh?"

Castiel snorted as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. "I mean, it's a little different. You've got a scholarship to Stanford for the third year straight - I'm living in an apartment with the windows painted shut."

"I'm stuck with five courses and a part-time job, while you've got a hit song on the radio," Sam countered.

Fair point. Cas avoided the first stair, which sagged alarmingly low. He was afraid that there was just a puddle of mold under the carpet, but had never been quite brave enough to ask the landlord. Also, he did not know who his landlord was.

"I suppose that's fair. So - I'll meet you tomorrow. Where do you want to go?" He climbed the stairs, slow enough that they creaked at the minimum. Any more pressure and they protested with groans.

Sam hummed. "I don't know, Starbucks?"

Cas scoffed. "You'll make a great lawyer." Twenty-six steps up two rickety staircases later, he flipped his keys in his hand to open his front door to the sound of Sam arguing.

"I will make a great lawyer, but my corporate taste in coffee has nothing to do with that. Do we have to get coffee? We could do something that you don't do every single day."

The front door swung open to a dark living room. Cas felt about in the blackness for the switch to his floor lamp. It lit up, all four bulbs in the flimsy metal lamp pointing in different directions at different watts. He chose to ignore the single bulb dangling from the ceiling. "I don't get coffee every single day. Some days I just drink it at my own house. Er, apartment." He could imagine Sam shaking his head. He'd brush his bangs out of his eyes and lean into the phone, doubled over a desk like his long, gangly body was comfortable there.

"I do too! It just might be nice to mix it up. What if we got frozen yogurt?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Specifically frozen yogurt? Is ice cream an option?" He kicked off his shoes and headed toward the stark white kitchen.

Sam faltered for a second. "Well, yeah, just - frozen yogurt is better for you."

Castiel almost started to tease him before he opened his fridge and saw a massive jar of pickles and a bottle of ketchup. Maybe something a little health-conscious wasn't the worst thing he could spend his Saturday eating. "Okay. There's a shop close to my place - do you want to just meet here and we'll walk?"

"Sounds great." Sam beamed. "I will text you tomorrow and we'll figure it out from there. Oh, and - congratulations, Cas. The song really is fantastic. You deserve this. I'm really proud of you, okay?"

"Thanks, Sam. I'll see you tomorrow." As they hung up, Castiel closed his refrigerator and turned around to look into his living room. There was a grey floral loveseat with chewed-up wooden legs next to the ugly IKEA floor lamp and his shoes. That was it. His bedroom, separated from the living room by a beaded curtain, featured an air mattress with no frame, along with several boxes of clothing and books. There was no built-in light at all. The nicest thing in the room by far was the acoustic guitar propped up in the corner.  
It wasn't the nicest place Cas had ever lived in. He wondered if maybe he ought to clean it up before Sam got there. There wasn't really anything to clean, though. Maybe he should buy a painting. 

He stepped into his bedroom and changed into grey sweatpants. They matched the rest of his decor. He backed into the living room and took another two steps into the single bathroom, cramped and at odd heights for his long legs. He brushed his teeth, humming the song he'd been working on through the foam. Cas spit into the sink and took a container of floss out from the crooked medicine cabinet above the sink. He ran his tongue over the little spots of blood on his gums and turned off the light.

 

The threadbare quilt over his air mattress served as sheets and comforter both, as Cas rolled himself into it like a burrito. He checked the alarm on his phone and then snuggled himself into the rubber of the mattress. The cars passing by illuminated the room with flashing headlights. Castiel willed himself to keep his eyes shut, and began to fall asleep while thinking about key changes. He was pretty sure Angel would love what he had so far on the new song - and he was positive that Sam would.

Then his eyes blinked open. Shit. He needed to make a video.

Castiel untangled himself from his quilt and sat up, wobbling with nothing but air and rubber holding him up. His old, outdated laptop was all the way across the room, plugged into the wall outlet like crude life support. He supposed it really was – the battery life was maybe ten minutes without being hooked up to electricity.

Instead, he opted for his phone. He wasn’t going to sing anything tonight – it wouldn’t be the first time he’d posted a shaky, front-facing video to update. Cas reached down to the foot of his mattress, where he’d lightly tossed his phone onto the stained white carpet. He opened the camera and angled it appropriately. The supplied lighting in his room was fluorescent and spotty. Someone had neglected to finish screwing the ceiling fan all the way into the wall, and the light swung in circles along with the blades when it was on, throwing shadows across whatever it had just illuminated. Cas leaned to the other side of his mattress and turned on the tiny desk lamp he’d brought from home. It was plenty to read by at night in a small town, but here it mostly served to soften Castiel’s sharp cheekbones and the bags under his eyes.

When he was satisfied with the angle and the lighting, Castiel pressed record, shot the video in one take, posted it, rolled over, turned off the lamp, and tried to go to sleep. There was a big day ahead of him tomorrow, after all. 

Also, he was starting to crash from all the caffeine.

 

In Palo Alto, Sam Winchester got a notification. He opened it in his bed, lying on his stomach.

I’m in San Francisco. – August 28  
published by thursdaycas

The camera was too close to Castiel’s face, at first. He was definitely using his phone (if the grainy quality of the film hadn’t been enough of a hint).

“Hello, everyone.” He readjusted the phone. A soft, warm light shone on him from somewhere off-frame. Sam squinted, trying to decide what the room looked like behind him. It was mostly shrouded in darkness.

“Well – we made it.” His usual stoic expression broke into a grin. “You’ve probably heard ‘Anna’ by now – enough of you preordered it, at least. I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has supported me this far and for this long. I never could have gotten here without you – and I would not have wanted to.”

Sam propped his chin up on his hand, smiling as he watched his friend begin to trail off into rambling. There was a faint sprinkling of stubble beginning to show up on Castiel’s chin. He probably hadn’t even noticed – usually he insisted on these videos looking as clean-cut as possible. Although, Sam supposed, now that he had a record deal, what did he have to lose? Cas had no product in his hair, and he didn’t have any circles under his eyes tonight. He was wearing the tee shirt Sam lent to him once at a sleepover, years ago, and never got back. He chuckled.

“I have a meeting with the company tomorrow, and I wanted to reiterate how thankful I am to you all. I will not turn this into a sales pitch for my new single – but you know where to buy it, if you want it.” Castiel smirked at his own joke. “Anyway. I love you all. Have a good night.” He raised an arm suddenly, his hand off-screen. He frowned, then brought his hand to his face in a rigid thumbs-up before the camera flipped up to the ceiling as Cas attempted to turn it off.

Next video playing in 10 seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

The elevator of Angel Records was somehow more angular than Castiel remembered elevators being. Were they always so boxy? Even the buttons were sharp little squares, glowing a cool blue. The whole place just seemed so clean. Pristine. Sterile.

No one accompanied him on his ride to the seventh floor. The lobby had been relatively empty for a building this massive. He had waved at a short woman in a pantsuit who completely ignored him. More business than business casual, then. The receptionist had been friendly, but Cas supposed he wasn't there to make friends. He was there to work. This was his job, now. A familiar thrill ran through him. He leaned against the smooth metal wall and smiled. He was finally on his way. This was it.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out into a carpeted hallway that looked exactly the same as the one on the first floor. The hallways stretched in both directions, with no visible signs. He went left. The short grey carpet stood in mild contrast to the white walls on the inside of the building. The exterior walls were nothing but windows. The sprawling city of San Francisco lay beneath the building, cars driving by like toys beneath the company. Castiel wondered what they looked like from the top level.

He checked the torn scrap of paper in his pocket before setting off to the left. Room 746. Finally, he was going to meet Naomi face-to-face. They had talked over Skype before, and he'd talked to her on the phone, but they'd never had a real meeting. It was a little strange, considering she was his only true contract with Angel - but the entire company was a little strange. Cas chalked it up to the city. Quirks came with the territory. It was a small price to pay for being able to avoid Los Angeles.

There didn't seem to be any other offices on the floor at all. Cas stopped walking, then looked over his shoulder. Maybe he'd gone the wrong direction. The hallway curved. Was he just walking in circles?

With six minutes until his meeting, Castiel was beginning to panic. He stopped for a moment to pat at the sweat on his forehead. Weren't you supposed to be early for meetings? What if they thought he wasn't taking this seriously? What if they dropped him?  
He walked a little faster.

With four minutes to go, Cas found himself almost back where he'd started. The elevator was twenty feet away, and the door to 746 was on his right. He swore quietly. Why wouldn't they name it 701? He checked the time on his phone, tried his best to straighten his shoulders, and pressed down on the handle.

He'd been expecting a boardroom. That seemed the proper place to have your first meeting with your record company. Room 746 was not a boardroom. It was an office. Naomi sat at the end of a long room, her silver desk facing the door. She sat in front of a white wall adorned with nothing but a clock. It only had an hour hand.

She was much more intimidating than she looked on Castiel's computer screen. She was probably half a foot shorter than him, but something about her seemed imposing. Perhaps it was the shoulder pads. Her red hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, and her grey suit was appropriately executive. Naomi didn't look up from the file she was highlighting until the door clicked shut behind Castiel. When she did, she broke into a smile.

“Castiel.” She stayed seated, gesturing to the single leather chair in front of her. “Please, sit down.”

There was nobody else in the room. Not even Crowley was there, hovering over her shoulder. Castiel sank into the offered chair, leaning back into the black leather. It didn’t seem to have any cushioning at all. He rolled his shoulders twice before giving up on comfort. “Thank you.”

Naomi waved a hand, the same smile on her face. “No, thank you. The head of the label wanted me to personally congratulate you on the success of your first single. There are so many bright young artists on the playing field – ‘Anna’ is doing remarkably well. You have been nothing but an asset to Angel. Would you like to see the numbers?”

“No, thank you.” Cas frowned. Michael had sent a text with too many percentage symbols in it this morning. Although he appreciated his brother’s support, it didn’t mean anything to him. “Except, did it make a reasonable appearance on the charts?”

Naomi’s smile might have fallen a bit, if Castiel wasn’t imagining things. She shuffled the papers on the desk back into a pile. “‘Anna’ made its debut at #97, which is fantastic for such a new artist.” She flicked her gaze up and down Castiel’s body. “We saw that you already have some particularly active fans online, too. That certainly didn’t hurt sales.”

No, it hadn’t. Cas had been teasing the release of his first original song under a label for weeks. At first, Angel hadn’t been entirely thrilled. They had insisted on preapproving each video he posted, going over every second and listening for leaks or poor grammar. Cas marveled at how old fashioned they were, but the preorders made an impression on them. For someone with no experience except playing his guitar to virtual audiences, Cas had collected an impressive collection of followers. They’d been stepping in and out of his life since before his decision to drop out – when Angel picked him up, they were ready to support however they could.

Naomi continued, “Your success should only grow from here. I have great feelings about your next single.”

Cas perked up. “Yes, I was hoping we could talk about that. I have some ideas I’m excited about - would you like to hear what I’ve been working on?” He began to rummage in his pockets before she answered, looking for his phone. He’d recorded some stuff already, although the lyrics were tentative.

As his fingers closed around the case, she cleared her throat. “No, I’d rather talk about the content.” Naomi watched his face fall and smiled graciously. “I’m just not much of a musician - you understand. Major this, minor that - I couldn’t even tell you how many strings a guitar has.”

“Six, usually.” Cas let go of his phone. “So, content: This newest song is tentatively titled ‘Freedom,’ and it’s about … freedom.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow.

Castiel hurried to elaborate. “Freedom from - the constraints that other people put on you. The concept is to write about longing for something you can’t have, and what it does to you when you cannot have it, whether that’s because of your friends, your family - ”

“Your lover?” Naomi supplied.

Cas leaned back in his chair, his jaw falling open. “Wh - no! No.” He paused.

Naomi shook her head. “Castiel, that seems artistic and thoughtful. It is, if nothing else, entirely in-line with your current brand. Unfortunately, we need you to go in another direction.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She leaned forward, folding her fingers together as she smiled. “This constant repulsion at the idea of romance - it’s endearing, really. Perhaps it’s why you’ve already scored major points with younger demographics. But younger listeners don’t buy nearly as much music as those who are out of middle school.”

Castiel blinked. He wasn’t sure if it was an intentional insult, or if it was at all. She was still smiling, not a hair out of place.

“I wasn’t aware that I had any fans in middle school,” was the only thing he could think to reply.

She tapped an almond-shaped fingernail against her desk. “Castiel, we all want to succeed here. I know that you have the potential to be one of the greatest musicians – one of the greatest stars that has ever come out of California. You just have to help me help you. People want to hear love songs.”

“Yes, but – ”

Naomi raised a hand to cut him off. “All I’m hearing is ‘yes’ from you. This song you’re writing sounds like it’s coming along nicely, but it needs to be tilted in that direction. That’s what the people want. Don’t you want to make your fans happy?”

Cas frowned. “My fans have never expressed a particular interest in love songs before.”

“Oh, no?” Naomi cleared her throat delicately and shuffled her pile of papers. She drew the one at the very end to the top and straightened the pile again. “These are the artists you covered with the highest views: Adele. Lana Del Rey. Jeff Buckley. What do all these artists have in common?”

“They … make people cry?”

This time, her frustration wasn’t quite so contained. She looked up at the smooth white ceiling before exhaling. “They all sing love songs. Your most popular videos are you, crooning into a camera for hundreds of thousands of views. The comments section is inundated with mostly teen girls fanning themselves over your voice.” If she noticed the red flush steadily creeping up Castiel’s neck, Naomi ignored it. “I understand that you made it clear when you first signed with Angel that you were not particularly keen on writing or recording any love songs. But that seems a bit hypocritical, doesn’t it?”

Cas pressed his lips together into a thin line. “I disagree.”  
Naomi shrugged. “Then we’ll have someone else write your lyrics.”

All the air in Castiel’s lungs disappeared like he’d been punched. “No. I’m a songwriter. I don’t need any help.” He scowled at her. Perhaps his nerves had been residing within his lungs, because they vanished at the same time as his ability to breathe freely. “That was in my contract, too. Mr. Crowley said – ”

His producer (Agent? Publicist? Cas still wasn’t entirely sure.) shrugged, the shoulder pads in her suit exaggerating the movement. “Crowley and I tend to conduct business using different methods. Did he say, word-for-word, that you would never have to sing a song someone else had written?”

Cas paused, trying to think back four weeks to when a charismatic Irishman with dark stubble and a darker suit had leaned against the door to his family’s home. His parents were at work, all his siblings were out – it was just Castiel, Crowley, and a contract with more pages than seemed good for the environment. His parents would be appalled. They were certain that anyone from farther west than Colorado was the devil in a suit. Signing anything from a corporate anybody might be enough to cause their untimely ends by heart attack. But Cas didn’t have enough money to hire a lawyer, and if the scoffs of disgust and shock were anything to go by, his parents wouldn’t even entertain the notion.

“Don’t you do this sort of thing online, now?” He asked, squinting at the massive stack of paper.

Crowley grinned with a few too many teeth. His voice was nothing but soothing when he answered, “Of course not – we want a paper trail. This way there’s no way we can worm out of anything – it’s completely binding.” He handed a heavy silver pen to Castiel, clicking it open with his thumb.

Castiel’s hand hovered over the first blank labeled ‘signature,’ highlighted evenly. “And this includes what we talked about? No love songs? I’ll be the sole songwriter unless I solicit a collaboration?”

“Castiel, darling,” Crowley smiled. “You’re in good hands.”

And he’d signed. The pen glided across the contract like a paper airplane across a classroom. The ink shone black on the thick, creamy paper. He admired his own signature, perfected over the last month in preparation for this day. He looked up at Crowley, whose smile suddenly was a mirror of his own. Castiel laughed and took a step to the side, gesturing for the stocky man to come inside and sit down.

Crowley had chuckled appreciatively, wiping his shoes on the Miltons’ welcome mat in spite of the dry Kansan weather.

The two of them went inside, closing the door behind them with a solid sound that must have been a click, although in Castiel’s memory it sounded more like a gong.

He turned back to Naomi, who was waiting patiently, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised. “No,” he admitted. “He never said it, word-for-word.”

She tutted, spreading her hands with another little shrug. “You need to be more careful with this sort of thing, Castiel. It’s a good thing that you signed with us and not a more malicious label. What would you have done if you had accidentally signed away something important? With us, you know you’re safe. We’re even paying for your lodging! How is your apartment, by the way? Is it to your liking?”

Cas felt his shoulders sinking. His arms felt very heavy, swimming in his sleeves. “It’s fine.” It was unfurnished, a hollow dwelling with no personality. Then again, he hadn’t worked particularly hard to infuse it with any of his own. It wasn’t like that was Angel’s fault, much less Naomi’s. “It’s nice. Thank you.”

She beamed, and it was so authentic that Cas began to doubt whether any of her other expressions had been, up to that point. “That is wonderful; I am so glad to hear it. Thank you so much for coming in to talk with me – we will absolutely be in touch.” She stood up as she spoke, striding past Castiel’s chair and walking the length of her narrow office. Naomi opened the door and waited for Cas to stand up and meet her at the threshold.

As he opened his mouth to thank her for her time, Naomi patted his shoulder. “So we have come to an agreement, then, on the content of your new album and the material you’ll be working on? We at Angel really do feel that this is the best course of action for all involved parties – we’ll make it the least painful that it can be.” She laughed at her own statement. Cas stood, unsure where the joke was in what she’d said.

Then she was talking again, straight-faced as ever. “We don’t want to have someone else write for you, Castiel. I understand that your creative vision is important to you, and like I’ve said, it’s a major reason that we wanted to sign you at all. You are special to us because you are unique. We don’t want to take away the things that make you you – we just need to make sure that they’re as commercial as possible. I have honestly enjoyed meeting with you today, and hope that you have a wonderful rest of your day.”

She waved with her left hand, pushing Cas gently outside the room until he was far enough away that she could shut the door. He raised a hand, then looked down at it, confused about whether he was belatedly trying to halt his agent or belatedly trying to wave goodbye to her. He stood outside Naomi’s office for a few moments, then shook his head and set off toward the elevator.

He stared at the smooth, cold silver of the elevator doors and waited for the ding of the doors. When they slid open, Castiel stepped into the box of a room and pressed the G for ground floor. As the elevator dropped through the air, his forehead wrinkled. He’d learned that pantsuits were apparently still in fashion, architecture sometimes is compromised more of guidelines than actual rules, and his parents had been more right than he was likely to ever admit to them. How eye-opening.

As the doors opened and he stepped into the relative brightness of the lobby, Castiel suddenly realized that he didn’t even know what his contract really said. He swore under his breath, then pulled out his phone. A couple, both in grey suits, cleared their throats as they stopped in front of him. Cas looked up to see their pointed glances at the elevator behind him.

“Oh. My apologies.”

They smiled, tight-lipped and wordless, then continued toward the elevator. It occurred to Castiel that they could have gone around him. He rolled his eyes and headed for the exit.

It was muggy and warm outside, cloudier than Castiel had really expected. In the two weeks he’d been in San Francisco, it had hardly looked like the opening credits to Full House at all. Wasn’t it supposed to be sunny, and bright? Whatever happened to predictability?

He chuckled at his own thought before pulling his phone out again. He had already opened Sam’s last text, continuing a string of emoji between the two of them. Mostly they were the Japanese food items that neither one recognized, with a smattering of road signs.

I’m done with the meeting. Do you want to meet at the yogurt place?

Castiel watched for the little dots, which appeared immediately. He leaned against the window of Angel Records, hopping up onto the ledge to sit as people passed.

Yeah! ten minutes?

I may be closer to twenty. Do you have the address?

Sam texted it to him within a minute, and Cas entered it into his phone. Siri estimated that it would take him about fifteen minutes to walk there in current traffic. Cas turned south and started the trek.

Castiel passed cocktail bars and boutiques, an empty nightclub and two bodegas. The people whizzing by in their cars and on their bikes didn’t notice him, walking through the streets alone. He wondered if they’d heard “Anna.” He wondered if they liked it.

He turned the corner onto the street with the frozen yogurt shop and shook his head when he saw Sam’s faded blue bike chained out front. Of course he’d gotten there first, and of course he brought his bike on the bus. Cas had secretly been hoping that the two of them might splurge for a taxi cab on the way home. He had sweated through the thin cotton of his undershirt much more quickly than he’d expected.

For a moment, he stood still on the sidewalk. He hadn’t actually seen Sam in weeks – Cas hadn’t exactly pictured their reunion this way. He would have preferred it if the image was more “two successful and happy friends embracing,” less “model hugging a drowned rat.” He looked about for some magical towel, which did not exist. Cas settled for waving his arms about in the air, hoping that a breeze might dry out his armpits at the very least.

“Cas!” The door to the shop opened with a jingle, and Sam was suddenly there, scooping Cas into his arms. Cas’ heart leaped up into his throat and he forgot to wrap his arms around his best friend. They stayed at his sides while his feet dangled in the air, knees bent.

“This is the part where you hug back,” Sam joked.

Cas obliged. Sam set him back on the sidewalk, pushing his own sweaty hair out of his eyes. For some reason, the heat looked good on Sam. His angular cheekbones were flushed with life. His skin could probably be described as ‘dewy.’

It was honestly frustrating.

“You look great,” Cas remarked. He gestured at the door, moving forward and holding it open in one fluid motion.

Sam put a hand on his heart. “I was going to say the same thing about you. You look good with a little color in your cheeks.”

Cas scrunched his nose in distaste. “I don’t know that I’d classify this as ‘color,’ more like ‘exertion.’”

They entered the sweet little shop, decorated in shades of purple. Sam directed them to the tiny table near the entrance where he’d left his bag. It was the only open spot left in the crowded shop. Castiel suspected that it might have been intended for children, based on the way that Sam’s long legs folded up like origami underneath the plastic disc. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

“So? How did the meeting go?”

Cas made a noncommittal noise and wiggled his hand in the air. “Ehh. Can we get ice cream first?”

“It’s not - ”

“Frozen yogurt, excuse me.” Cas rolled his eyes. “It’s hot.”

Sam smiled with one side of his mouth, holding back a laugh. “Yeah, sure is.” He extricated himself from the table and reached out a hand to help Cas up. “I’ve really missed you.”

Castiel took his hand, feeling the rough skin and a sheen of sweat as he pulled. Sam looked like he’d lived a life before San Francisco, somewhere other than Lawrence, Kansas. He was tall enough to be at Stanford on a basketball scholarship, and he was muscled enough to maybe get one. It was the details like the calluses on his fingers and the slight farmer’s tan that gave him away as someone other than a trust fund kid who belonged out here on the west coast. An ache swelled up in Castiel’s chest as he looked up and up into Sam’s hazel eyes. “I missed you, too.”

He tapped on the table and raised an eyebrow.

“Now. Let’s get some yogurt.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Honestly, I’m surprised there are any frozen yogurt shops left. I feel like they went out of style years ago.” The boys held their cups patiently as they stood behind five other customers, all of whom were choosing their toppings with the utmost care. Cas looked down at his little bowl – half chocolate, half cheesecake. At least it was kind of like ice cream. 

Sam shrugged. “The market just got oversaturated. It was popular for a reason. If seventy different novelty shops all pop up in the same neighborhood, a bunch will have to close – it isn’t special anymore.” He took a step forward, eyeing the fruit at the end of the counter.

Cas hummed in agreement. “That’s sort of what Naomi said about my music, actually.”

“Naomi? Oh!” Sam turned, the toppings bar forgotten. “Yeah, how did it go?”

Cas wasn’t quite sure he knew. He looked at the different flavors marked on the wall-mounted yogurt dispensers. Raspberry. Key Lime. Birthday Cake. “Fine,” he decided. “It went fine. She’s very intimidating. I don’t feel like I actually said very much in the meeting at all. They want me to write love songs.” Castiel couldn’t stop his face from contorting at the thought. “She was nice, but was very focused on how marketable I am. Maybe she’s my publicist.”

Sam frowned. “You don’t know? That seems – like an ineffective way to run a company.” He reached forward to place three slices of kiwi in his bowl. “And that sounds like it sucks, but I kind of see where she’s coming from - most songs on the radio are about romantic relationships.”

“Yeah, Naomi said that too,” Cas muttered. He watched Sam pile more fruit into his yogurt until he decided to add some strawberries to his own. At least now his bowl wouldn’t just be a frozen candy bar. Sam couldn’t say anything about it.

“It’s probably scary for the company to think that you’ll NEVER write a love song, you know? For commercial reasons.” He paused, then looked back at Castiel. “I mean, you might write one someday, right?”

“I would rather not,” Cas answered. The stiffness in his voice surprised him. “I suppose we don’t know. I don’t know. There are so many more interesting things to write about. You’re right – everyone on the radio is singing about sex or having their heart broken. Aren’t people tired of listening to that?”

The woman in front of them couldn’t decide whether or not she wanted Oreos on top of her yogurt. Sam cleared his throat as she put the scoop back for the third time. She shot a dirty glare at them and picked up the Oreo scoop again. Sam sighed.

“I don’t know, Cas. People have been writing love songs for centuries. I hate to say it, but I doubt they’re going out of style anytime soon.” He moved up behind Oreo Woman, who was pulling her wallet from her purse. “Why is it such a big deal? I didn’t know you felt quite this strongly about it.”

Castiel grumbled, dropping some gummy bears into his bowl. “I’m just sick of them.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to write one.” Sam waited for Cas to put a single Oreo chunk on top of his creation before snatching it out of his hand. He placed it on the scale in front of the cashier along with his own.

“Hey!” Cas protested as Sam counted dollar bills out of his wallet. “I could have paid for that. I’m about to be making a lot of money.”

Sam scoffed. “I’m going to Stanford and then law school. So am I.” He handed Castiel his yogurt and motioned for him to follow.

Cas grabbed two spoons and a handful of napkins before complying. “I’m not in thousands of dollars of student loan debt – next time, let me buy.”

They clambered into the tiny seats and Sam accepted a spoon. “Cas. This is a celebration. It was like four dollars. Let me treat you – when you’re inevitably world-famous and using hundreds as toilet paper – you can buy me a swimming pool.” He popped his spoon into his mouth and closed his eyes. “Mm. This was a great idea. In all seriousness, though, congratulations on the single.”

The two raised their bowls and pretended to clink them together in a toast. They were quiet for a moment, savoring the sweetness.

The door chimed as it opened again, bringing a wave of heat inside the shop. The goosebumps Cas had been experiencing due to the enthusiastic air conditioner vanished instantly. It might even be nice to go back out in the heat – and they did have frozen yogurt now –

He reached across the table and grabbed Sam’s forearm as he looked at the exit. “Those two women who just walked in – do you recognize either of them?”

Sam followed Castiel’s eyes and quietly gasped. “Is that … ?”

The two lithe women were standing an inch apart and pointing out different flavors of frozen yogurt. One had bright red lipstick and matching hair, tucked under a baseball cap. Her shirt was artfully ripped to expose her pale midriff, and her hand hovered by the other woman’s waist, not quite touching. The other woman had straight brown hair, massive sunglasses, and a pleasantly lilting accent that traveled across the shop.

Sam turned back to Cas, his mouth almost closed. “Is that Bela Talbot?”

“And Abbie Dawn, yes.” Cas looked at the two of them, teasing one another over yogurt preference. “They’re both signed to Angel, too.”

“Really?” Sam looked at them again with renewed interest. “I didn’t realize it was so reputable - Bela’s huge, you know. That song she put out this summer - ”

“Thief, yes, it was massive. It still is.” Cas smiled with one side of his mouth. “I am not completely culturally ignorant, you know. I am a musician. We try to keep up to date with our peers.”

“Oh, she’s your peer now,” Sam teased. He turned his head back to Cas, but watched the two out of the corner of his eye. “Who’s Abbie?”

Cas took another bite of his yogurt. “She isn’t quite as popular - she’s the lead singer for that female metal band, Knights of Hell. Before that they were Josie and the Letters. You know that song that goes, ‘you got blood on your dress, give it a rest?’ That’s her.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh, wow. I guess it makes sense they’d be friends, then. Once you get to a certain level of fame, you probably want to band with other stars. They understand you.” He chuckled and made a face. “When you’re famous enough to be recognized in a yogurt shop, you’ll probably forget all about the little people like me.”

“Sam, you’re over six feet tall.” Cas looked at the singers, paying in hushed voices. The cashier had stars in her eyes for Bela. She hadn’t seemed to notice Abbie at all. “And I could never forget you.”

“Aw, Cas.” Sam spooned up a blueberry, his cheeks a little red.

“I mean, how do you forget meeting a giant?” Cas continued. He grinned and pointedly avoided eye contact with Bela and Abbie as they looked for a table in the crowded shop.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha, hilarious.” He nodded toward the other two without looking at them. “Do you think we ought to say hello?”

Cas drew back, appalled. “No, absolutely not. Let them have their privacy.”

Sam raised a hand, ready to argue, but decided to go a different direction. They were almost to the door when he called out, “Abbie?” She turned around sharply, her empty hand quickly jumping to her pocket. Bela mirrored her action and they took a step apart. Sam waved, his friendly dimples washing away whatever concerns they might have had. Both singers looked at each other, around the shop, and then walked over to Sam and Cas.

If Sam had been trying to embarrass Castiel, he had done an excellent job. Cas blushed the same color as Abbie’s lipstick, one hand covering his mouth. The two women seemed delighted.

“Hey – I’m Abbie. I’m sure you know Bela?” Her voice was deeper than Cas had expected it to be, even though a solid section of her music was comprised of screaming.

“Yes! We’re big fans. Well, I’m a big fan. I’m Sam,” he introduced himself, sticking out his hand and beaming when Abbie shook it with a steady grip. “And this is my best friend, Castiel.”

Bela’s eyebrows dipped as she frowned, trying to recall something. “Castiel. That name sounds so familiar.”

“We share a label,” Cas explained. “My very first single dropped yesterday. Uh, I’m also a fan, though. Of both of yours.”

The family of approximately seven hundred children and one exhausted mother that had been sitting next to them stood up, emptying two small tables as they paraded toward the exit. Bela perched on one of the small seats, while Abbie chose simply to sit on the table, one boot dangling off the edge.

Bela smiled kindly, her leather jacket crinkling as she moved her arm on the table to avoid some spilled frozen yogurt. “Aw, that’s sweet! You’ve got that Anna song, right?” At his nod of encouragement, she continued, “I love it. Did you write it, or?”

Abbie rolled her eyes. “Rude, Bela. Nothing wrong if you’re not a songwriter, Castiel.”

“Right – I’m not offended – but I did write it. I write all my music. That’s part of the reason Angel picked me up, I think.” He hazarded a glance at Sam, who seemed thrilled to be in this situation. Cas couldn’t decide if he was frustrated or grateful that Sam had decided to try and embarrass him – either way, he probably ought to thank him later.

Bela raised her eyebrows behind her dark sunglasses. “Interesting. And what do you think of our dear Angel Records, thus far?”

Cas opened his mouth and then shut it again. “They’re – it’s an interesting company.”

She laughed, a fittingly musical sound. Abbie shook her head, smiling. “You don’t have a non-complainer clause; you can tell us.” Then she paused. “Wait, actually, maybe you do. Probably not in private, though. And they wouldn’t know. Unless we were corporate spies.”

Bela reached over and rested her hand on Abbie’s knee for a moment before putting it back in her lap. “Don’t scare him. Now who’s being rude?”

Abbie stuck out her tongue. Cas thought about it for a moment. “They’re very intent on what they want me to write or sing. I don’t think they’re bad people, but – this isn’t what I thought I signed up for. It’s just a little disappointing, to be dealing with that this early. But I’m really grateful for the experiences and opportunities that they’ve already given me.”

Something he said softened Bela. She looked at him for a moment, then took off her massive round sunglasses. Her eyes were light, although slightly bloodshot. “I know what you mean. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your career that you weren’t intending on making.” She started to look to the side, but stopped. She smiled at Sam, instead, before reaching into her black tote bag. “If we’re going to be labelmates, we ought to have each other’s phone numbers. In case there’s some kind of emergency.”

Cas sat up suddenly, a little alarmed. “What kind of emergency?” This entire conversation was becoming a lot more personal than he’d expected, and it wasn’t the most comforting thing he’d experienced in San Francisco.

Bela and Abbie both laughed, looking at one another again. Bela handed her phone to Cas, a new contact already started with his first name. She had spelled it the right way. “The kind of emergency where we need to throw a party.”

“Or stab an agent,” Abbie pretended to whisper.

Cas frowned, unsure of the proper response. Sam took charge, yanking Bela’s phone out of his hand and typing Castiel’s number in with no hesitation. “He would love to help you out with either problem.” He handed it back to Bela, the dimples making another appearance.

“Splendid.” Bela grinned at him, then patted Abbie on the leg to signal that they were going to leave. “I’ve got to head out to the studio. We will be in touch, then! It was lovely meeting you, Castiel, Sam.”

Abbie frowned. “Wait. Let’s take a selfie.”

“Abbie…” Bela began to complain, sinking back into her seat as she groaned in frustration.

“Let’s put it to a vote?” Abbie suggested. She wiggled her eyebrows at the boys. “If you want to take a selfie and get tagged on Instagram with Abbie Dawn and Bela Talbot, which can only be good for your career and your reputation – raise your hand.” She elbowed Bela smugly when both Sam and Cas waved their fingers. “Awesome.”

Bela grumbled, “I don’t like everybody seeing me without any makeup, or a wig, or whatever. Private lives should be private.”

Sam shrugged as he unfolded from the tiny chair and moved to the placement Abbie suggested. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s nice to know that there’s someone in a baseball cap underneath the layers of publicity. People like authenticity. Like the acoustic versions of your music! They’re-”

“All relegated to bonus material,” Bela deadpanned. Abbie sighed, motioning for Cas to join them in the picture.

Sam went the same color of red that Cas had been earlier. “I – I didn’t mean - ”

“No, you’re alright,” Bela hurried to reassure him. “It’s just that authenticity means something different when you’re being paid to have someone engineer a lot of your life.” There was a little pause, until Abbie cleared her throat, phone out and camera open. “Right, let’s get this over with.”

All four of them leaned into the shot. Sam couldn’t resist giving a thumbs up to the camera. Abbie snapped five or ten pictures in quick succession, at slightly different angles. They all leaned apart as she dropped her arm and began to flick through them all.

“Castiel, don’t you ever smile?” She made a face and turned her phone so that he could see it.

Sam looked handsome as ever. His hair had, if possible, dried even better-styled after riding a bike to a yogurt shop in late summer. Bela and Abbie both looked like they had a lot of experience taking publicity shots, with faces that were angled but not too angled and just enough teeth showing for it to look like they’d been genuinely laughing – but without closing their eyes. Cas looked like he wasn’t sure where the camera was.

“I smile!” He frowned. “I just started thinking about how I don’t have an Instagram.”

Abbie sighed like he’d done her a personal disservice. “C’mon, man. You need to catch up with the times.”

Bela waved her away. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, Angel will probably set you up with one. They have a tech girl working there who’s actually fantastic – she has a soul, unlike some of those assholes. The next time you talk to your handler, ask about Charlie. They got her in this big merger a year ago – three companies all joined together; it was a big mess. Anyway, she was the best thing they got out of the deal by far. She’s a sweetheart; you’ll like her. And she’s very good at social media.”

“Great.” Cas realized he was still kind of frowning and made an effort at a more neutral expression. “I’ll keep her in mind.”

Bela stood up, lightly pulling Abbie along with her. “Again – great to meet you guys. You seem like a sweet – pair.” She smiled and dumped the rest of her yogurt into the trash can by the exit before swinging out the door, bells ringing behind them.

Sam looked after them for a moment, then laughed in disbelief. “That was wild. Dean has such a crush on her; he’s going to be so jealous. I can’t believe she gave you her phone number.” He shook his head, apparently unable to completely wrap his head around it.

“Well. Technically she didn’t.” They both were quiet for a minute, realizing their mistake. “I suppose – maybe she was worried I would get the wrong idea? I mean, she is famous.”

Sam laughed out loud at that. “First of all, you are about to be famous! Get in the mindset! Secondly – I don’t know how it would have been possible for you to get the wrong idea from that interaction.”

Cas turned, his forehead scrunched. “What do you mean? She seemed nice. Did I frown too much?” It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had been a little put off by Castiel’s facial expressions.

“No, I didn’t – did you not notice?” Sam frowned in disbelief. “Cas – they were absolutely dating.” He looked from the door, back to his friend. “How did you even miss that?”

“Huh.” Cas bit his lower lip. “Yes, I missed that. Was that the – the hands, and?”

“Yeah, man.” Sam smiled with one side of his mouth and shook his bangs out of his eyes. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here. You wanna show me your place? I have a little bit of time before I need to go back.”

Cas patted his arm as they stood up, scooping his container of melting yogurt residue off the table. “I would love to. I do have to tell you, though – there isn’t a dining room.”

Sam grabbed his own bowl of yogurt and tossed it into the trash can from where they were standing. “That’s okay. We can sit on the floor. Or against your bed. Or on the couch, like normal people.”

“Mm – technically, I also don’t have a bed frame. There’s a mattress! It’s made out of rubber.” He thought about mirroring Sam’s action, but wasn’t quite confident enough in his arm. He took the four steps forward and deposited the bowl directly in the wastebin. Nice and neat.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam raised an eyebrow as they walked into Castiel’s apartment, the keys still jingling in his friend’s hand. “Oh, wow. This is… cozy, isn’t it?” Neither of them could completely suppress their giggles as they stood just inside the threshold, then kicked off their shoes to scatter on the carpet.

Cas’ apartment was not much more inviting in the daytime, whatever it had looked like on his video blog. The warm lighting and flattering angles were completely missing in real life, replaced by fluorescent blandness. The heat from outside steeped the room in suffocation. Cas pulled at his own shirt, conscious of the blush springing up when Sam pulled his shirt over his head, leaving him in a white v-neck.  
  
Sam patted the worn arm of the couch in exaggerated surprise, Castiel’s reaction going completely unnoticed. “What’s this! Cashmere? What a luxurious fabric!”

“Cashmere is rarely the chosen fabric for furniture,” Cas said. He put his keys in the designated ceramic dish on the kitchen counter before taking a few steps to throw himself on the sofa, shirt still on. “And I’m not sure that it’s quite this same texture.”

Sam scoffed, seating himself next to Cas. “What are you talking about? This softness… it’s maybe even _better_ than cashmere. This is like every nice sweater I’ve ever touched in a department store.”

Castiel laughed, pulling his knees to his chest. “You’re showing your Kansas.”

“Can’t help it.” Sam shrugged. “Besides, that downhome charm is part of my shtick. People love it. You could stand to integrate a little more of it into your act. I mean, I know that you’re about to be internationally recognized, but it might be nice for you to represent the little states.”

Cas made a face. “Now that you’re gone, there’s very little in Kansas that I want to represent.”

If Sam was hurt by this admission, he didn’t show it. “Dean would be offended if he heard you say that.”

“How on earth is it my job to represent your brother?”  Cas laughed. “Why don’t you just become famous for defending some criminal – I’m sure reporters will be banging down his door then, looking for a statement. Why else would anyone go to Lawrence?”

Sam shrugged. “In the years after you die, maybe your family home will be turned into a memorial. Like Graceland.”

Cas grimaced. “What a pleasant thought. I can’t imagine my father would be anything less than entirely pleased to hear about that plan for the future.” He shook his head. “You know he wasn’t even particularly pleased to hear about the way that you got me discovered? Can you imagine what he would be like if someone called him up after my death and said, ‘Hey, we’d like to purchase your family estate.’?”

“You think your father will outlive you?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Sam, my father will outlive us all.”

Sam laughed before processing what Cas had said previously. “Wait – what do you mean, he wasn’t pleased to hear about the coffee shop?” Sam opened his mouth and then shut it again, stowing away his outrage. “Not that it was really me who did anything for your career - Angel wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with you if you hadn’t already had the following you do online.”

“You’re full of shit.” Cas chuckled. He readjusted himself on the ugly, pale grey couch. Sam tapped his own thighs, and Cas followed his lead. He swiveled until he was facing the other side of the sofa and laid his long legs in Sam’s lap. Sam promptly put his hands on Castiel’s shins, completing a routine. Cas looked up at a crack in the ceiling, a short smile on his lips. “You do know that without you, I wouldn’t be here. Whatever you want to pretend for your pride or mine – you know that, right?”

Sam didn’t say anything, which was answer enough for Cas. He snuggled down farther into the uncomfortable couch with a little smile. “So, what do you wanna do?”

  
  


A year ago, Cas frowned and eyed the stage with suspicion. Sam raised an eyebrow, which disappeared behind his bangs. “What, do I have to reassure you of your massive talent?”

Cas laughed in spite of himself. “Absolutely not. I am fully aware of how good I am, Sam - I just don’t think that this audience will appreciate my particular style.”

They looked around the coffee shop in unison. Fifteen or so grungy looking students in beards and beanies with Apple products lounged amongst the tables, ceramic mugs steaming or forgotten by their stained notebooks full of half-written poetry.

Castiel was not afraid. He had been playing the guitar in front of an entire clan of strangers every major Christian holiday, when the extended family rolled into town. He had long gotten over any stage fright in favor of complete apathy. There were too many burnouts here who said they supported local artists, but none from past 1987. Of course, his lack of faith in them was echoed in their bored table-tapping to the tune of whatever was oozing through their over-the-ear headphones. Probably Bon Iver.

“What’s it gonna hurt? What do you have to lose?” Sam nudged Cas’ boot with his toe.

“Four minutes of my life - plus however long it takes to deal with the inevitable feedback from the low quality sound system.”

Sam stirred his black coffee. “I mean, if you’re nervous … that would be okay.”

“That won’t work on me,” Cas said, as bluntly as possible without being mean.

Whoever had been on the makeshift stage in the corner left to a smattering of applause. She smiled as she passed Sam and Castiel’s table, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Come on.” Sam pouted, peeking at his friend from behind his bangs. “Confession: I may have only suggested this place because I knew it was open mic night.”

Cas pretended to glower as long as his facial muscles would cooperate, but he was shaking his head with more than a hint of a smile in less than a minute. A new record, for Sam. It was a testament to how bad Castiel’s poker face was that Sam squeezed his hand and jogged up to the sign-in sheet without explicitly asking.

He supposed that it didn’t really matter. The previous performer was talking to a stout man at a rusted patio table. No one in the coffee shop was paying attention to her anymore - with all the headphones, maybe they never were. It wasn’t like this was something that could affect him, in the long run. But it would make Sam happy. Cas set his jaw and wondered if he ought to reexamine his priorities.

He sighed as Sam pushed him toward the little circle of worn carpet and slightly less dim lighting. He let himself be led to the microphone as grudgingly as possible. If nothing else, he was playing to his audience. Their enthusiasm levels seemed about the same.

The emcee/barista butchered his name and announced hi song. Sam gave him two thumbs up from their table. The microphone and speaker squeaked and screeched for twenty excruciating seconds. A girl in a crocheted hat ordered a latte, at full volume. Cas took a deep breath.

 

_“I heard that you’re settled down,_

_That you found a girl and you’re married now._

_I heard that your dreams came true -_

_Guess she gave you things I couldn’t give to you…”_

There was a little more interest in this set than in the previous - not changing the pronouns to an Adele song will do that, for a man.

Sam would say that he sang his heart out, when he was explaining to their friends how a man in a dark suit came up to them and asked if Cas had ever thought about trying for the big time. All Cas remembered was looking out past the crowd as he sang, “Never mind; I’ll find someone like you,” and wondering who it was he was supposed to be singing about. Sam’s teeth caught his eyes as they glinted in the soft lighting. Cas sang to his temple, above his right ear for the rest of the song. It seemed safe.


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m supposed to write some love songs,” Cas grumbled. “But I’d really rather work on this idea I had for my concept album – I’m just frustrated. Do you want me to make you some coffee?” He swung his legs up off the couch and started toward the kitchen without waiting for Sam to answer. “I should let you know: I don’t have any sugar or creamer.”

Sam sighed, too quietly for Cas to hear from the other side of the room. “Don’t you drink coffee like syrup? How do you not have any sugar?”

Cas pursed his lips as he got a massive red tub of coffee out of the freezer. “Sugar is expensive.”

“Sugar is two dollars.” Sam shook his head. “I mean, I like it black anyway, but – ”

“Alright, fine. I keep forgetting to buy it. But I really need caffeine.” Cas turned back toward the coffee pot, which was half-full of cold sludge. He pulled the pot off its warmer and just stared at it for a moment, holding it half a foot from his face. Without fanfare, he pressed his thumb against the lid and dumped it into the sink. Coffee splashed against the sides of the ceramic, staining the white.

He opened a cabinet and felt around for a filter while filling the pot with new water. “Usually I just drink it cold. Maybe I should write a song about that.”

Sam stretched out on the couch, his feet propped up against the opposite arm. “Perfect. It’ll sell ten million physical copies. The reviews on Pitchfork will say it’s honest and relatable, but the synth is a little too on-the-nose.”

Cas let out a huff of breath as he turned on the machine. Air hissed through the percolator. “I would never use synth in a song about cold coffee. That’s an acoustic jam if I’ve ever come up with one.” He hummed a short phrase, catchy enough to be a hook on its own.

“Actually, that sounds great.” Sam sat up, suddenly more interested than he was before. “Don’t rhyme coffee with toffee.”

“Ha, ha. Actually, lyrics are the hardest part for me. I can guarantee you that it would take at least four drafts before I crossed out the word toffee.” Cas took a step away from the counter and rested his elbows on the kitchen island. “I’d think, ‘It’s a song about coffee. What rhymes with coffee?’”

“For a pop song? Anything. It doesn’t need to actually rhyme; it just needs to sound like it rhymes. Haughty, quasi, posse, naughty.” Sam rolled the words into the air like he’d just been waiting to share them. Cas raised both eyebrows, surprised, as Sam continued. “But why would you even bother with that? Wouldn’t you just put ‘coffee’ at the beginning of the line and then not worry about dealing with the rhyme?” He smiled at his own slant.

Cas frowned, propping his head up on his hand. “You’re right, that would be easier. I didn’t realize that you were so familiar with the inner workings of a lyricist’s mind.”

“What can I say?” Sam leaned over the arm of the couch. “It’s my hidden talent.”

A thought occurred to Castiel. He was a little ashamed he had never thought it before. “Do you write songs, Sam?” So much of their friendship had revolved around music, and so much of their personalities and hobbies took place set to a soundtrack – it would only make sense. And yet they’d only ever talked about Castiel’s music.

Sam was shaking his head before Cas could start to feel too bad about his thoughtlessness. “Oh, no. Just – sometimes little poems. About whatever. Definitely – I’m not a songwriter. I just like to write.” He stopped himself, realizing he was beginning to ramble. “No worries.”

Cas tilted his head to the side. The coffee began to stream through the filter. “Okay, maybe this is weird, but – I definitely want to work on the Freedom arc – I told you about that, right?” He waited for Sam to nod before continuing. “Would you want to help me with the lyrics? I know how the song goes; I have everything written, including a melody. I just need help figuring out what exactly to put there.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked. He watched Cas turn to get two slightly chipped mugs out of the cabinet where the filters had been. “You don’t even know if you’ll like them.”

 

“One,” Cas started, pouring the still-percolating coffee into one of the mugs. The coffeemaker grumbled unhappily, the water complaining it had nowhere to go. “I have liked everything you’ve ever shown me you’ve written. I just didn’t realize any of it rhymed, since that’s – not common for current poetry.” He opened the silverware drawer with a crash of cutlery before remembering they had nothing to stir into their drinks. He closed it, slower. “Two, are you going to be offended if I decide to go in a different direction?”

Sam laughed. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then why would it matter?” Cas watched the coffeepot, waiting for the dark liquid to reach a certain mark on the side before pouring the second cup. “In any case, I’d like to see what you’ve written. Would you be okay if I used any of it?”

“I – yeah, that’d be fine.” Sam reached out for one of the mugs as Cas walked back toward the sofa. “It’d be weird to hear my words on the radio, though.”

Cas snorted. “You’re telling me. Try it with your voice attached.”

They took a sip of their drinks at the same time, a loud slurp accompanying their twin grimaces. Cas perked up when he saw Sam’s face. “I thought you said you drank black coffee?”

“Well, yeah, but – ” Sam struggled to find a polite way to say it, but gave up shortly. “This is terrible coffee. What did you buy?”

Castiel shrugged, blowing across the surface of his drink. “It was the most cost-efficient. I got significantly more coffee for the price, with this purchase.” He sat down on Sam’s right, holding his full mug in the air, lest it spill.

Sam hummed in understanding, but did not take another sip. His phone suddenly went off, the relatively soothing alarm made of chimes. “Shit.”  
  
Castiel put down his coffee, resting the mug in his lap. “Is that an alarm?”  
  
“Yeah. I need to head back to Stanford – I’ve got a group project.” He rubbed at his temple, either regretting the full cup of coffee he’d just been given or coming down to San Francisco in the first place. “They’re hopeless without me. I’ve done pretty much everything so far.” He made a face like his words were sour. “If I’m not there on time, they’ll probably all end up playing Smash on Brady’s couch.”  
  
“Why are they in your group?” Cas frowned. “You’re a good student. You should have aligned yourself with the other hard workers.”  
  
“I wish you’d been there to say that the first week of the semester.” Sam brought the coffee to his mouth and then thought better of it. “Brady’s my roommate, and his girlfriend was in the class, and – it just kind of went from there. They’re all friends; I couldn’t really veto any of them.”  
  
Cas grunted, getting up from the couch and offering Sam a hand. “I would have vetoed them.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Sam took the proffered hand and stood up. He held onto Castiel’s hand a little longer than was entirely necessary, before dropping it in favor of holding his mug with two hands. “You’re more confident than I am, I suppose.”  
  
Cas sighed, sweeping the keys out of their dish. “You sure you don’t want the grand tour before you leave? We didn’t really get a chance to talk about the intricacies of the place.” Before Sam could answer either way, he pointed toward the kitchen, barely five feet from the couch. “That’s the kitchen, where I cook.” He pointed at the bedroom, barely more than a corner of the living room separated by the grungy beaded curtain. “That’s the bedroom, where I sleep. The previous tenants left the curtain as a gift. Or a warning.” He dropped his finger and turned back to Sam to raise his eyebrows.  
  
“And that beautiful room, which has an actual door – that’s the bathroom. It is made for hobbits. If you need to use the facilities before heading back, it is yours to use. Mi baño es su baño.”

Sam looked down at his coffee, attempting to gauge how much he’d consumed in a single sip. “You know – I probably should. Give me a second.” He looked around for something like an end table to set his mug upon. There was nothing, save Castiel’s outstretched fingers. Sam smiled in thanks and headed toward the bathroom.

Cas set his mug down on the kitchen island.  Sam closed the bathroom door with a click and immediately exclaimed, “Wow, it is small in here.”

A tiny little buzz came from Castiel’s pocket. He frowned, set his mug next to Sam’s, and pulled it out of his pocket. He had a text from an unknown number with a San Francisco area code. It buzzed again. Two texts.

_Castile  
_   
_Fuck. *Castiel_

Cas waited for a third text explaining who was sending the message, but it didn’t immediately follow. He unlocked his phone and sent a quick message back.

_Yes. Who is this?_

He watched the three dots pulse for a moment before getting another set of texts.

_This is Bela! I know we just met, but it looks like my next album is going to be finished today. I’m going to throw a party tonight to celebrate – details to follow. You are absolutely invited, if you’d like to attend._

_Feel free to bring Sam. ;)_

Cas stared at the phone for a minute. Holy shit. He’d genuinely appreciated Bela and Abbie being kind earlier – but a party? That seemed … way too good to be true. He glanced toward the bathroom and hoped that Sam was going to take a little while.

_Is this a prank?_

As soon as he sent it, Cas knew that it was not the cool thing to write. He looked up from his phone, shaking a head at his own social ineptitude. Fantastic. He was going to be uninvited from a party before he’d even been to one.

_Smart to ask, honestly. Hold on._

Following Bela’s text was a photo of her, standing in the same recording studio Castiel had used only a few weeks prior. The sunglasses she had been wearing earlier were perched atop her head, under a pair of enormous headphones wrapping around the back of her head. She was giving her phone a thumbs up.

Cas smiled instinctively. Of course, it wasn’t ideal for Bela’s first thought to have been that Castiel was worried someone was scamming him – that didn’t seem to speak particularly well for the trustworthiness of various people in the area – but it looked like she was serious about inviting him to the party.

The toilet flushed in the other room, the sound traveling through the thin wall.

Inviting _them_ to the party.

The faucet turned on, water rushing through the pipes. Cas tapped his phone against his cheek, wondering if he even ought to tell Sam about it. He would just feel bad if Sam had to abandon an opportunity like this, and for school…

Sam opened the door to the bathroom, wiping his hands on his shirt with a grimace. “You really need to invest in a hand towel.”

“Bela just sent me a text,” Cas changed the subject. Sam let out a noise indicative of surprise, and Cas pressed on. “Her third album’s just wrapped and we’re invited to a party tonight. I know you’ve got to go back to Stanford, but it’s a Friday, and - ”

“I wanna go.” Sam looked shocked that the words had come out of his own mouth. Their faces almost definitely matched. “I mean – I’ve done everything for this project. I’m pretty sure they can get their asses in gear if they don’t want to fail. Is that – is that terrible?”

Cas shook his head as vehemently as possible. “No. No, it makes sense. Besides, she invited you specifically. By name. I think she and Abbie would be disappointed if you didn’t go.”

Now that he’d already said it out loud, Sam was struggling to find an argument. “I mean – yeah. How often does an actual star invite you to their house? And if we don’t go – what if she thinks we don’t want to, and then we don’t get invited again?”

“You’re entirely right.” Cas couldn’t help the massive smile on his face. “It would be rude.”

“It would be rude!” Sam agreed. They grinned at each other before Sam looked at his phone to check the time again. “Okay, don’t make fun of me – ”

“I’ve never made fun of you in my life,” Cas interrupted.

“Shut up – what time is this party going to be?”

Cas picked his coffee back up, pleased to be sipping it now that it was closer to the stifling room temperature – ‘too warm’ instead of ‘really fucking hot.’ “She didn’t say – I don’t know if she’s entirely planned it yet. Why would I make fun of you for asking that? That’s a good question.”

“Well,” Sam hesitated. “I was going to say, if it’s going to go really late – should we take a nap? I said don’t make fun!” He called over Castiel’s burst of laughter.

“Hold on.” Cas held his phone to his mouth and waited for the text-to-speech option to chime. He spoke into the receiver with exaggerated clarity. “Fantastic. We would love to come. When are you thinking it will be?” The swish of a sent message sounded and he raised his mug in a toast. “Let’s say, if it starts after eight pm, we’ll take a nap. So we’re appropriately energized for our first celebrity rager.”

“Even if we aren’t ‘appropriately energized,’ it’ll be nice to be awake enough to be able to get home if it blows,” Sam pointed out. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward onto the island, across from Cas.

Cas supposed that was a fair point. He looked down at his phone again, wondering how she’d respond. When did the parties of the rich and famous begin? Where were they held? Did he need to dress up?

The thought chilled his blood. Cas looked up suddenly, making urgent eye contact with Sam. “Sam. Do we need to dress up? What if this is a black tie event?”

Sam’s eyes widened just a fraction, but he raised his hands in the universal gesture for helplessness. “Then we’ll be underdressed. But think about it – if this was a black tie, fancy-pants event, would she be inviting everyone hours beforehand, over text?”

“Who knows? I don’t know if you know this, Sam, but I am not a celebrity.”

“You’re about to be.” Sam smiled with one corner of his mouth. It dropped as Cas’ phone went off again. They both reached out a hand for it, their fingers brushing casually as Cas swept it out from beneath Sam’s hand.

_Stellar! It’ll probably be somewhere around nine – I’m big on making sure people think that I won’t be catering food, so there’s something left over tomorrow to feed my hangover._

Cas blanched. _Catering? How fancy is this?_

“Well, I just asked her,” he announced. The part of him that had been so embarrassed for a minute earlier was completely gone now. At this point it was a survival instinct. There was no way in hell he was going to show up to a party in ripped jeans when everyone else was wearing at least one article of clothing embellished in sequins. “So I guess we’ll know if we get to take a nap or if we need to go rent tuxedos.”

“I know right now that I am not going to rent a tux.” Sam pretended to gag at the idea. “So many butts have been in rented clothing. I refuse. I’d rather wear this.” He gestured down at his unimpressive shirt and jeans. On the plus side, most of the sweat had dried.

Bela texted back.

 _Just don’t be naked. At least, not when you get here!_ She followed the message with at least five of the laughing and crying emoji.

Sam and Cas let out a collective sigh of relief. “Thank God.” Cas put a hand on his heart. “I was honestly terrified that my career was going to be over because I wore a graphic print tee to Bela Talbot’s album wrap party.”

“You’re too talented for that.” Sam waved away his worries, flapping his hand in the air. “They’d just print magazine articles about the attractive new singer on the scene with no regard for rules and a killer sense for street fashion.”

Cas snorted. “I would probably be featured in a Who Wore It Best? article. And then lose to a garbage bag.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had an outfit made of black vinyl. That’s even more adventurous than I thought … ”

“Shut up,” Cas managed through his laughter. He spread his arms, one toward the bedroom and one toward the couch. “So – now that we know it’s too late for our grandfatherly bones – where do you want to nap?”

“Hm.” Sam tapped a finger against his lip as he thought. “How comfortable is your bed?”

In answer, Cas swept aside the clear beaded curtain so Sam could see the rubber mattress in all of its partially deflated glory.

“Not particularly,” Sam answered his own question. “Wonderful. I feel like I should take the bed so that you can get some actual sleep, then – you’re the one who’s making impressions tonight, not me. And I really do feel like the bed will be less comfortable than the cashmere couch.”

Cas raised a hand, ready to argue the point. “But you can hear the cars more in here. And there’s a curtain in the bedroom to block out some of the light.”  
  
A car outside honked to prove his point, followed by a chorus of other automobiles, apparently all intent on demonstrating that their horn were loudest. Sam winced. “I suppose you’re right. I’m just concerned about your back - there’s no way I’ll believe that an air mattress without a frame is comfortable. It just isn’t.”  
  
“You’re being ridiculous.” Cas rolled his eyes. “Go lie down on the mattress. I bet you five dollars that it isn’t as uncomfortable as you’re imagining it is.”  
  
Sam pushed himself away from the kitchen, already scoffing. “If I’m being honest, I’m already imagining a bed of nails kind of situation, so - you’re probably right, it isn’t _that_ uncomfortable. Doesn’t mean I’d pick it over the couch, if I were you.”

“We can’t all have massive comfy collegiate bunk beds gifted to us by educational boards,” Cas said. He followed Sam past the terrible beads and presented the mattress like a prize on a gameshow. “Tada.”  
  
“Mm. You make your bed?” Sam lowered himself to the mattress, impressed by the folded quilt. “Very adult.”  
  
Cas did not feel that he needed to mention he had only done it with the knowledge that he would have a guest. “I am an adult, yes.” He crossed his arms, waiting for Sam to stop shifting about. “Well? Is it like having your entire body steamrolled?”

“Jesus, Cas.” Sam looked up at the defensiveness. “No, it’s not the single worst bed I’ve ever sat on. I feel like it’s – uneven, though? That might just be because I’m sitting on it instead of lying down. Is that an issue for you?”

He looked so genuinely concerned that Cas relented from the sarcasm. “No, it’s been fine.” He sat down next to Sam at the foot of the mattress to balance the weight, his hand against the wall so that he didn’t fall. “See?”

Sam nodded, arranging his features into a serious expression. “Yes, I see… it seems that you have passed this mattress inspection. I give you a C+.”

“A C+?” Cas turned to him, outraged. “That’s a terrible grade. That’s barely passing.”

“C’s get degrees,” Sam quoted. “I can’t help it. There’s a whole rubric, you know – the mattress has to have something inside of it to even make it into the B bracket. This is exemplary, for this quality craftsmanship.”

“It is not that bad!” Cas huffed. “Here, lie down.” They rearranged themselves so their heads were near the top of the bed, sharing the single long pillow face-to-face. “Feel that. That’s not C+ quality. That’s at least a B.”

Sam wriggled about, then stuck an arm under the pillow to rest his head upon. “I suppose it’s fine. Honestly, you probably need to sleep on a mattress to really know how it performs in the long run. Right? This is all just preliminary scoring.”

“Fine.” Cas squinted. “Let’s nap in here, then.”

“Oh?” Sam looked at him for a minute before shrugging with his left shoulder. “Yeah. Okay. Do you want to get under the blanket?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Cas said. He curled his lip a little at the thought. “It’s way too hot. But if you do, I can just roll over and - ”  
  
“No, no, that’s okay.” Sam shook his head, then reached in his pocket for his phone. “I should probably actually text my group. And set an alarm. Just in case.”  
  
Castiel tapped one of his foot against Sam’s as he texted. “Do you often fall asleep at three thirty in the afternoon and not wake up by nine?”  
  
“You never know,” Sam mumbled as he texted. He kicked back at Cas’ feet out of reflex.  
  
“You never know?” Cas repeated. “I know. I think you should maybe work on your sleep schedule. That seems pretty off-kilter.”  
  
“Yeah, okay. I’m gonna set it for eight thirty. Does that sound good?” He pressed his foot against Cas’ shin, letting the cold seep through his sock until Cas yelped in surprise.

“Why are your feet so cold?” Cas jerked away as he laughed. “And yeah, that sounds good. Of course, if I sleep for that long I’m almost certainly dead, so you’ll have to unlock my phone and go to the party on your own.”

“Great. I’ll let them know I have some killer tunes about cold coffee lined up.” Sam closed his eyes with a smile. He cracked one open and pretended to frown. “And my feet aren’t that cold.”

Cas scooched forward, the top of his bare foot against Sam’s sock. “Does this feel like you’re burning? Because that’s how cold you are.”

Sam pressed his other foot on top of Cas’, his eyes closed again. “Nope. Feels nice.”

Cas let out an exaggerated sigh, but didn’t move. “You know we’ll probably wake up in about twenty minutes from all that coffee we drank, right?”

“All that coffee _you_ drank,” Sam corrected him. “I’ll sleep like a baby. Plus, you’re so sleep-deprived you’ll probably just have weird dreams.”

“Babies are notorious for sleeping poorly,” Cas pointed out.

Sam didn’t respond, although he was obviously still awake. Cas could see his eyes moving underneath his eyelids, long lashes fluttering. It wasn’t the first time they’d ever shared a bed, but it might have been the first time they had during the day. The curtain in the bedroom window was a gauzy joke. It barely kept any sun out at all, but softened the light that backlit Sam. His hair glowed golden around the edges, like a halo. The curve of his waist was emphasized by his position on his side. Cas realized that he was beautiful like this – even more so than usual. It was a shame that Sam hadn’t been born five hundred years earlier, so Michelangelo could have sculpted him into eternity.

“Are you asleep?” Cas whispered.

“I’m trying to be,” Sam said.

Any semblance of tiredness Cas might have been experiencing had disappeared completely, somewhere between half a cup of coffee and the feel of Sam against his skin. He wondered if this is what people meant when they wrote love songs. Sam was a vision; he felt like the entire world at that moment.  
  
Of course, Sam was also crowded onto a twin size mattress with another man who was six feet tall. And he had cold feet.  
  
Still. It was nice, the proximity. Cas hadn’t realized how much he ached to be near another person until he’d been left alone in an unfamiliar city for weeks. The air seemed cooler; the light seemed softer. Sam’s left arm was curled into his stomach, like he was afraid to touch Cas. His entire body curved away. If he actually fell asleep like that, there was no way he wouldn’t fall off the mattress.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
Sam opened one eye, confused. “What?”  
  
Cas gestured with his free hand, motioning for Sam to flip over. “You’re going to fall.”  
  
“Are you saying we should spoon?” Sam asked, amused. He didn’t move, but dropped his arm.  
  
“I-” Cas wasn’t sure that was exactly what he meant. Did that carry some further implication? Would it be weird? Would Sam even care? “Yes.”  
  
Sam broke into a grin, still in the same spot. “And you want me to be little spoon?”  
  
“...Yes.” He waited, face unmoving. If Sam was going to be difficult about their spooning positions, Castiel wasn’t positive he’d be able to keep from arguing the point. There was no way he was going to turn around and face the blank wall - not this suddenly awake. It would be hours and hours of boredom.  
  
Sam motioned for Cas to come a little closer, his face solemn. They leaned together, Sam over Castiel’s shoulder, his mouth brushing Cas’ ear. “I never get to be little spoon.” He pulled back quickly, chuckling as he rolled over and pressed against his friend.  
  
They negotiated their positions with very little argument (“No, Sam, my hand will be fine under your tiny waist. If it falls asleep I’ll push you off.”) and settled into each other’s arms. They lay there for a while, their eyes closed, before Sam cleared his throat.  
  
“Cas?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Is this … weird?”  
  
Cas thought he might panic for a moment. Mostly he was just a little irked that Sam had waited until he was actually comfortable to voice his concern. Their legs fit together, his arms the perfect length to wrap around Sam’s torso - why did it matter?  
  
He surprised even himself by leaning forward and resting his mouth on Sam’s shoulder. Just for a second. Cas could feel how nervous Sam was - he wondered if his heart was beating so quickly because it was too intimate, or because it was Cas. He moved back to where he’d been.  
  
“Personally, I don’t care.”  
  
Cas felt Sam’s shoulders droop as his lungs deflated. He froze for a moment before retracting his arms, sure that he’d made Sam uncomfortable.  
  
Then Sam grabbed his hand. “Where are you going?”  
  
“I thought you thought it was weird?”  
  
Sam snuggled closer to him, replacing Cas’ hand where it had been moments previously. “No - I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Not weird.”  
  
“Not weird,” Cas repeated.  
  
They didn’t say anything else, drifting off to sleep in the afternoon light.


	6. Chapter 6

The alarm did go off at eight thirty, but it didn’t matter. Sometime around eight, Cas’ growling stomach woke up Sam.   
  
“Oh my God - was that your stomach?” Sam turned over his shoulder to look at Cas, who did not seem embarrassed in the slightest.  
  
“Yes,” Cas said. “We should go get dinner.”  
  
Sam rolled off of Castiel’s arm, right onto the floor. Cas snatched his arm away from its position, massaging out the pins and needles. Sam narrowed his eyes mid-yawn, noticing his action.  
  
“I thought you said you’d wake me up if your arm fell asleep!”   
  
Cas shrugged, wiggling his fingers. “I lied. Can we go get food?”  
  
“Don’t you have any food?” Sam stretched, his back elongating until he slumped back over. “We could make burgers.”  
  
“If I’d had food, I would have offered it,” Cas snapped. He shook out his arm, looking at the palm of his hand like he’d find a solution in it. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just hungry.”  
  
Sam pushed himself off the ground and reached out a hand to help up Castiel. “You always did get grumpy when you’re hungry. Remember that time Dean asked if you could wait an extra hour for dinner and you said, ‘No offense, but fuck you’? I suppose we haven’t eaten anything since yogurt.”  
  
“We most certainly have not.” Cas huffed. He let himself be pulled to his feet, then brushed off his sleeves. Sam took a step back, giving him some room. Cas wasn’t sure why. They’d been tangled in each other’s legs for several hours, hearts beating at similar rates and Cas’ breath pushing against Sam’s hair. The idea of making sure that Cas had enough room to collect himself now was laughable.  
  
“What time is it?” Sam asked. He looked toward the window, squinting in the relative dark. The lights of the city and the sun still lit up the room, shadows and light trading places on the wall behind the air mattress. “Is it time for the party? We don’t want to be late.”  
  
Cas pushed aside the beaded curtain with an indignant wave of crinkles and sound. “First of all, it’s only eight. Secondly, it’s fashionable to be late. Thirdly, I would rather die than go to that party without getting some food. We can just get burgers somewhere on the way. I’m sure there’s a fast food place.”  
  
The groan Sam made was much too emphatic for the situation. “It’ll hurt your stomach.”  
  
“No. It might hurt your stomach, but mine is made of steel. And hunger.” Cas motioned for Sam to move through the curtain, and quickly. “Let’s go!”  
  
Sam pretended to grumble, but he moved through the curtain and was by the couch in an instant. He stepped into his shoes and jumped until they were comfortable as Cas mirrored his movements. Sam picked up the shirt he’d discarded earlier and pulled it over his head, running a hand through his hair in some imitation of a comb. He turned back to Cas with a grin and presented the door like he’d been the one trying to leave. “Shall we?”  
  
They skipped steps, pushing each other down the old staircase in an attempt to be the first one to the ground floor. Castiel’s quick feet were no match for Sam’s long legs, though. Sam cleared the last landing in two massive leaps, a stomp echoing through the stairwell as he braced against the wall so that he didn’t break his ankles.  
  
“Cheater,” Cas panted. He screwed up his face in a complainer’s scowl. Sam only laughed in response, turning the doorknob to the exit and holding it open. He waited for Cas to pass over the threshold and shut it behind them, gently. They’d caused enough noise for the other residents already.  
  
The night had cooled considerably - it helped that the sun had started to go down. The clouds and smog rested right above the orange orb, which threw its light on every available surface while it still had the opportunity. Sam and Castiel squinted as they walked down the street, sticking to the shade of the buildings they passed.  
  
“Does Bela live close?” Sam asked suddenly. His hands swung as he walked, always close to Castiel’s but miraculously missing each time they passed. Cas put his left hand in his pocket.  
  
“Not far,” he answered. “She texted me the address while you were still napping. And by not far I mean I’d rather walk than get an Uber.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow and casually hooked his right hand into his pocket. “An Uber? Are you thinking you’re going to get wasted?”  
  
“Not _wasted_ ,” Cas said. He looked ahead and wondered where the hell an ordinary burger joint could possibly be. That was the worst thing about San Francisco. “But I don’t want to be the stick in the mud at a party with a group of people who could be assets, as far as my career is concerned.”  
  
“Wow. You’ve changed since high school,” Sam said.  
  
Others passed by, couples already drunk and groups of friends looking to start drinking. Cas belatedly realized that he had never gone any further downtown on a Friday night than his apartment. A fixie whirred past them, its gears clicking like they’d been assembled incorrectly. Cas glared at the back of the bicyclist, unsure how she was driving on the steep road at all. Every time Cas left the house, his calves began to hurt after fifteen minutes from basically hiking to his destination. It was exhausting.  
  
The two of them had to abandon burgers, and instead turned to a street vendor selling kebabs. Cas was perfectly happy with his döner kebab, wrapped in pita and cheap enough to buy with the cash in his pocket. Sam despaired at their lack of crisp vegetables, settling on some particularly green falafel. Cas paid for both without asking, shooting Sam a look that recalled the yogurt and did not allow room for questioning. Sam accepted the falafel without argument, and they continued on their way.  
  
“How’s your falafel?” Cas asked with a mouth half-full of kebab. “Is it healthy enough for you?”  
  
Sam chewed whatever was in his mouth and swallowed before answering. “It’s fine. It’s kind of greasy.”  
  
“It’s street food,” Cas emphasized. He took another bite of his pita. “What were you going to get if we had found a burger place?”  
  
“Probably a burger. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal that I like to eat green things.” Sam looked down at his falafel and revised his sentence. “Vegetables. First Dean, now you’re giving me crap.”  
  
Cas could not shove the rest of his kebab into his mouth comfortably. He tried anyway. “Mmm. I guesh.”  
  
Sam made a face, picking at his food with the fork that the vendor had given him with a smirk. “Gross.”  
  
“Sorry.” Cas was not sorry. He gestured with his foil trash at the building coming up on the street. “That’s where Bela lives. I think.”  
  
“You think?” Sam took another bite of his falafel. “Look at her address again – I’d rather not stroll into the wrong party with a handful of falafel.”  
  
“You’re going to throw away the falafel before we get to the party though, right?”  
  
“Do you think they won’t have a trash can in an apartment this nice?”  
  
They stood in front of the massive brick building, its multicolored stone helping it stand out amongst the other apartments on the block. The two of them looked up, and then up, and up some more at the windows blinking bright and neon. If this was the direction that Castiel's career was headed, he truly hoped that Angel would drop the lease on his apartment so he could move into this sort of building. There was an entryway that looked like it ought to come equipped with a doorman and a receptionist, dressed in matching red and gold. Drumbeats and bass filtered through the floors, punctuated by the occasional high-pitched whoop.

The elevator was intimidating in its stark lines and luxurious air. It seemed obscenely nice for a musician in San Francisco. The carpet in the roomy box was fluffed and clean, like it existed for some purpose other than being stepped on. The doors closed with a pleasant female voice saying, "Third floor." It was like being in the elevator at Angel Records, but without feeling like you were riding in a metal coffin.

Bela had sent them a text with the apartment number when they were still five minutes from her place - Cas couldn't find it in himself to be anything other than pleased and a little embarrassed that she'd taken it upon herself to make sure they attended. He wondered if she was simply trying to fill her party with bodies.

That was absolutely not the case. Or if it was, she had succeeded. Sam and Castiel stepped out into the hallway on the third floor, the heavy music becoming crisp and the lyrics intelligible as soon as the doors opened. There were two doors - one at the far end of the hallway, and one by itself, which was slightly ajar. They looked to one another before shrugging and pushing it open.

Her apartment was beautiful. It was also huge. It seemed that there were no other residences on the floor; Bela's place took up the entire story. The lights they had seen from the street swiveled in front of the glass pane in front of the balcony. The air was thick with the smell of spilled alcohol and sweat, and about half the room was full of people dancing. Those dancers alone made up a bigger population than Cas had ever seen at a party. He looked to Sam, amazed, but either Stanford was wilder than Cas had thought or Sam had a better poker face. Both were entirely plausible.

"Boys!" Bela swept toward them, a shot glass in each hand. She wore a short red dress with the kind of skirt created specifically for people who liked to watch themselves twirl in mirrors. She did not wear any shoes, just a polish on her toes that seemed metallic. Cas prepared himself for the shot, which looked too clear to be anything fruity. She relieved him by taking both herself, one after the other. "I'm so glad that you could make it."

She hugged them both. Cas remembered her as being taller. When she broke the embrace, she was holding both shot glasses in one hand and pointing to them. "Can I get you two anything?" She shouted over the music, then shrugged her shoulder toward the kitchen. The bits of marble and granite Cas could see through the archway almost made him salivate, compared to his own Formica countertops.

Sam answered for them both with a casual nod. Castiel was glad that someone had the foresight to do so, smiling at Sam as Bela put up a finger and indicated for them to wait while she made her way back through the crowd to the kitchen.

It was just so distracting in the living room. Cas couldn’t even stare at one wild occurrence long enough to understand it – something loud or sparkly or musky would immediately steal his attention. A little voice in Castiel's head started whispering that maybe they should see if there was a bedroom. Or exactly how occupied the balcony was. It had to be quieter than this mess of people. He immediately tamped it down, embarrassed at his own thoughts. They were guests. This looked like an amazing party, probably.

He thought that he might recognize some of the faces in the throng of dancers, and those scattered amongst the modern furniture holding drinks, chatting, and sucking face. Castiel averted his eyes, feeling the blush rising in his cheeks. How could they do that so publicly? It was a mystery he didn't feel he'd probably ever solve.

Sam tugged on his sleeve and nodded toward a figure close to the speaker, dancing like she'd already hit double the blood alcohol limit. "Is that - ?"

"I think it is."

Dancing with anyone who stepped into her path, Ruby Kristy swayed like her face wasn't plastered to the walls of millions of teenagers. Cas had seen her on Sam's, at the very least, her dark eyes and dark hair the definition of sultry. It was surreal seeing her here, in the middle of a penthouse belonging to someone who might be a friend. Sam looked at Cas hesitantly, his arm still on his friend's sleeve.

Bela returned with a bottle of beer and another shot. She offered them with a crooked smile, then followed Sam's eyes to Ruby. "Oh, are you a fan? She's great to talk to - you should go say hello." She pressed the beer into Sam's hand and pushed him toward the dancers. He looked behind his shoulder, unsure until Cas smiled and gestured toward the star.

"Is this odd for you?" Bela asked after a moment. She handed the shot to Cas, who held his breath before downing it. To his surprise, it was not straight vodka. Sweet coconut flooded his senses in taste and smell. He widened his eyes and she laughed. "I wouldn't give you something disgusting. I kind of figured that if you like frozen yogurt, you'd probably like sweet things? Should have asked, though. Do you want a tour?"

"That's alright." Cas smiled, remembering his manners. "You have a beautiful home. This is certainly a party - congratulations on your album."

"Thank you!" She beamed. "I'm so excited for its release. This is by far the most Bela of all the albums I've recorded. I'm so exhausted by Angel."

Cas watched her glance over at the group of people laughing on her curved sofa. Abbie sat on the arm, a beer in her hand. She grinned and interjected something else, starting a new peal of laughter from her audience.

"Maybe you ought to just quit," Cas suggested. He was not expecting Bela to laugh like her guests on the couch.

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "What a great idea, Castiel. You've figured out the solution." She changed the subject, still shaking her head like he'd said something much funnier than he'd intended. "Do you know anyone else here? I could introduce you to a couple people - there's a lot of sound people and studio musicians, if you want to try and make some contacts. There's also some ... executives." Any trace of mirth vanished from her voice, which was suddenly dripping with contention. "At least one. If you see anyone with shoulder pads, I'd avoid them."

"I'll keep it in mind." Cas looked down at his shot glass, unsure what to do with it now that it was empty. "Do you want me to just put this in the sink, or...?"

Bela clicked her tongue against her front teeth and waved her hand. "Oh, no. Just fill it up with more rum. I'm going to run over and sit with," she paused. "My girlfriend." For the first time, Cas realized that she might be a little drunk. She winked at him and tapped his arm as she passed to go perch on Abbie's lap, knocking the two of them onto the couch sideways.

Cas turned toward the kitchen, unsure exactly where to go from here. He had never been quite so aware of his own introversion. Sam was dancing with Ruby in the living room, closer than Cas would have suspected for someone as aggressively asexual as Sam was. She was just as attractive as her posters and album covers led everyone to believe. Castiel didn't feel that it was really his place to interrupt what must have been a childhood fantasy, even if he could feel his discomfort crawling up his lungs like a physical creature.

The kitchen was two things immediately: beautiful and crowded. Ten or twenty strangers leaned against the refrigerator and the counters, sitting cross-legged in front of the oven and backwards on the chairs in the breakfast nook. They all seemed to know one another. Cas smiled uncomfortably, trying his hardest not to make eye contact. It wasn't as difficult as he'd expected - the group seemed mostly content to ignore him as he walked toward the Malibu that Bela had left on the counter. That same self-conscious voice from earlier hoped that no one would notice he was drinking coconut rum instead of beer or something harder. He stomped it down in favor of free alcohol.

Cas turned around, ready to head back to the rest of the party after pouring himself another shot or two. He felt someone's eyes on him and looked for the culprit - a tall, thin man in the corner wearing a blazer and a v-neck. He raised his beer in acknowledgement, then turned back to his conversation, hand entwined in a pretty girl's ringlets. Something about him seemed familiar, but Castiel couldn't grasp exactly what it was.

"WHAT?"

Everyone in the kitchen turned to the sound of the yelling, somewhere in the living room. Cas stepped across the tile threshold, searching for the source of the commotion.

Abbie was standing in front of the sitting area, her phone to her ear. Her mouth was slightly open, two colors of lipstick smeared to the side. "This isn't fair."

The music still played in the background, chugging on despite the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Synth churned out of the speakers at sonic speeds. Abbie reached behind her, leaning on the arm of the couch to steady herself. Bela touched her arm lightly, asking what was happening without any words. Her girlfriend shook her head and strode out to the balcony, opening and shutting the sliding door with enough force that Cas could hear it over the music. Half the party didn't seem to notice that anything had gone awry. Bela wrung her hands together, a nervous smile on her face as she assured the guests in her immediate vicinity that nothing had happened. She caught Castiel's eye and excused herself.

"Castiel. Cas." She waved at the balcony without looking at it. "Can you go talk to Abbie? I need to find somebody."

"Oh, Bela, I don't know that I'm -" Cas started.

She pressed a finger just to the right of his lips and shook her head. He caught whiffs of shampoo and hairspray. Bela pointed to the balcony again. "Please? I don't think this is going to turn out very well. Abbie likes you. She needs someone who understands what they're like."

"Who?" Cas asked before realizing he already knew the answer. "Angel? What do they want? Isn't it a little late for them to call?"

"It is," Bela confirmed. "Just - please." With that, she pushed off his arm and wobbled into the kitchen. He could hear her accent above the rest of the party, although not what she was saying. She sounded angry.

Cas looked out at the balcony. He could see Abbie's elbow at her side, the phone still to her cheek. He sincerely doubted that anything he had to say might help her, but it seemed that Bela was his friend. It was the only thing to do. He murmured an apology to another set of dancing guests, stepping around obstacles until he reached the balcony doors and slid them open.

"Please, I'm sorry, I'll re-record - " Abbie was in the middle of talking when the person on the line cut her off. She pressed her lips together. Cas couldn't remember if her dark eyeliner had been quite as smudged as it was now when she went outside. He had a feeling that it had gotten wet.

She saw him come outside and didn't say anything, but didn't motion for him to leave. Nobody else was on the wide balcony at all, so Cas took a seat in one of four intricate wrought iron patio chairs. It smelled like cigarettes outside. He wondered if Bela smoked.

"We both know that this isn't what this is about." Abbie managed to finish a sentence, although the tinny voice she was talking to raised its volume. She looked like she'd shrunk a couple inches, even in her impressive heels. "Well, you know what? Fuck you." She didn't even wait for the caller to respond and hung up on them.

She stared out at the lights of the city for a moment. Cas didn't say anything. It was so bright. They were caught in a strange, liminal space between the disco stage lights of Bela's party and the swerving brake lights and streetlamps in the distance. The music wasn't so loud out here. It was nice.

Cas waited for Abbie to say something. She didn't seem like the kind of person who would particularly appreciate a stranger jumping into her business for details and anything adjacent to gossip. He told himself that he would be cool and collected, no matter what she said. She didn't need anything like panic or surprise, if whatever the call had been was as upsetting as it seemed like it had been. She didn't take long. "That was Angel. They fired me."

"What?" Cas gasped, immediately forgetting his promise. "For what?"

"For not releasing a censored version of a single." Abbie laughed. Cas frowned, unsure of the joke. Was this a coping mechanism? "That's what she said, at least. But everybody's going to know why they really did it. Fuck." She swore again, dropping into a second patio chair. Cas really hoped that they weren't about to get into some kind of confessional moment. He was not drunk enough to perform particularly well in that situation.

"Are you ... okay?" He regretted the question as he asked it.

Fortunately, Abbie didn't seem like she'd entirely registered the question. "Mmm. I need to talk to Bela." She looked up quickly, like an idea had struck her. "I need to talk to Bela." She launched out of the chair, slipping through the sliding doors without explaining anything to Castiel further.

He was appalled to find that he was relieved.

Cas watched as she pushed dancers out of her way, stopping halfway toward the sitting area, unsure of where Bela had gone. She turned back to him and he pointed toward the kitchen.

Sam had stopped dancing with Ruby, who had found a thin blonde girl to grind against in his absence. He raised a hand to get Castiel's attention, his brows furrowed as he strode toward the balcony doors. "What's happening?"

"Abbie got fired," Cas answered. He craned his neck toward the kitchen, straining to hear what they were talking about. "I think we should leave. She seemed really upset - apparently she didn't release the right version of a single, but she said that wasn’t actually what happened?"

Sam blanched. "I hope it isn't what I'm thinking."

"What?" Cas asked. Sam opened his mouth to respond, but they were both distracted by a crash from the kitchen.

Bela stood a step backward into the living room. She was yelling at someone in the other room, half a broken glass in her hand. Someone turned off the music, the commotion finally noticed by the party at large. "Get the fuck out; you are entirely useless. You're a useless, corrupt - useless!" Her suave demeanor had given way to drunk emotion.

Cas coughed nervously, tugging at Sam's arm. "We should go."

"Wait, but-" Sam started. He stopped when Bela threw the second half the of the glass. It shattered against what must have been the wall. Abbie was behind her in an instant, one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder.

"Let it go," was all she said. Bela seemed to wilt into her arms. Abbie patted her on the shoulder, leading her toward the hallway where their bedroom must have been, Bela's arm slung over her shoulder. She looked at the guests who stared, agape. "Party's over. Go home."

Bela began to protest, but Abbie hushed her. She looked over her shoulder when she realized that no one was moving.

Cas sighed. He had spent maybe half an hour at his first massive party and it had been ripped to shreds and shards. At least this was a way to make himself useful. Having a task was comforting. "You heard her. Everybody get out." He opened the door to the apartment and began waving people through.

The comments and gossip he overheard simply while waiting for everyone to exit the building were scandalous. Was Abbie fired for sending nude pictures? For breaching her contract? For telling the executives 'fuck you?' For snorting coke off a hooker? But the most heartbreaking suggestion was repeated, over and over until nobody was left in the apartment except Sam.

Gay. Gay. Gay.

"She talked about Bela in a song," Ruby mentioned to her blonde friend as they walked across the threshold, arm-in-arm. "It's just a bummer, y'know? They're so accommodating if you're just willing to play straight. Or if you're Bela Talbot." The two of them laughed about a joke that Castiel didn't understand, but he ushered them away with a glare.

When it was just the two of them, Cas closed the door with a sigh. "I'm going to go tell Bela everybody's gone."

Sam nodded. "I'll go clean up the glass in the kitchen."

As Cas walked down the hallway to the bedroom, it occurred to him that this was not the best party Sam could have ditched school for. He suddenly felt incredibly guilty. He'd blown off class to clean up glass at a stranger's party.

The hallway ended in three doors. One was opened to a dark bathroom. Cas tried the one next to it - just a linen closet. The last door in the hallway was shut. He knocked, waiting for a response.

"Hmm?" One of the girls answered.

"It's Castiel - uh, everybody's gone. Is it okay if we just lock the door knob when we go?"

"When we - ? Wait, no, come in."

Cas hesitated, glancing back down the hallway before pushing the door in. Their bedroom was decorated with more feeling than the rest of the apartment. A purple tapestry hung behind the massive bed. There was a painting of two women kissing on the wall next to the window. He stood an inch from the door, shifting from one foot to the other.

Both Bela and Abbie sat on the bed. Bela was crying. Abbie was not. They looked up when he entered. Bela sniffed and wiped her cheek. "Hi. I'm sorry this turned out this way."

"Don't be sorry," Abbie cut in. "It's not your fault. Castiel, thank you for helping end the party. We appreciate it."

"Not an issue," Cas hedged. "Oh - Sam and I wanted to thank you, for hosting the party, and we just wanted to say goodbye." They didn't answer at first. He started again. "Well, I'll let you two - "

"Where's Sam?" Bela interrupted.

"In the kitchen." Cas fidgeted with his hands before shoving them into his pockets. "We should probably go."

"Probably," Abbie agreed. "Just lock the door knob; that's fine. I'll do the other one in a bit."

He smiled, grateful to have another action ready. "Okay." He took a step back, ready to close the door and let them have their privacy until Bela looked up again.

"Cas?"

He stopped.

"Just - promise me that you won't let them do this kind of shit to you. Okay?"

 He hesitated, unsure what to say. "I'll try. But it doesn't seem like you have much choice. This feels ... unethical," he finished.

Abbie snorted. "That's one word for it."

"You have a good heart," Bela continued. "This shouldn't happen to people with good hearts. It shouldn't have happened to you," she addressed her girlfriend. She began to cry again.

Cas looked at Abbie for permission to go. She nodded, cradling Bela's head to her chest and making soothing sounds. He turned and booked it back down the hallway. Sam was just leaving the kitchen, wiping his hands off on his jeans.

"Let's go," Cas said shortly. Sam agreed.

They turned off the lights and locked the doorknob, shutting the door to Room 303 behind them with a decisive click. For a moment, they just stood in the hallway. The building seemed deserted, compared to the ruckus that had greeted them so shortly before. The elevator took only a few seconds to arrive, and they entered without saying anything. They rode to the main floor and left the building without any conversation. It was only when they stood on the sidewalk, ready to begin the trek back to Castiel's shitty apartment that Sam spoke up.

"Well. That could have gone better."

Cas hummed in agreement. That was an understatement if he'd ever heard one. It could have gone better. If Cas was the kind of person to rate experiences on a ten-point scale, he wasn't sure Bela's party would have gotten a one.

"What happened?" Sam asked after they'd walked for a minute or so.

Cas filled in all the information he'd gleaned - each bit and piece chronologically. Sam frowned at the beginning and the expression didn't leave his face, even after Cas got to closing their bedroom door.

"Wait - that's incredibly illegal."

"I don't know," Cas looked ahead of them. The city was completely unaffected by what had happened at that party. The cars driving by, the bikers being tailed by impatient vehicles - none of them had any idea. It was so strange to come from an environment where everything was compressed into a crying woman and a broken glass - straight into one where they didn't matter at all in the grand scheme of things. "It looks like they got her with some technicality. Something about not censoring a lyric? Ruby said that she wrote a song about Bela and they didn't like it."

"Maybe she didn't change a pronoun?" Sam suggested. Cas shrugged.

It seemed that they didn't have much else to say about the Abbie Dawn situation. Cas mentioned that he might text Bela tomorrow and ask about it. Sam said that was a good idea. They walked.

"So." Cas raised an eyebrow. "Ruby Kristy."

Sam turned, his face suddenly alight. "I didn't want to say anything - I mean, it's really sad with Abbie and Bela and the party was kind of a bust in general, especially for you - but. Ruby Kristy!" He did a short little dance on the sidewalk. Cas stopped to wait for him, a laugh escaping from the solemnity of their previous conversation.

"Was she nice?"

"I mean - " Sam shrugged. "We didn't talk that much, to be honest. Mostly she just wanted to dance."

"I saw that," Cas teased. He wiggled his eyebrows, pleased to see Sam turn pink. "Very sexy."

Sam sputtered, pink cheeks turning to red. "What? No. I mean - she is very sexy, sure. We weren't dancing nearly as - you know. It was - whatever." He sighed, entirely aware he sounded like a child who had just watched a rated R film and been caught by his parents. Cas couldn't help but be amused.

"Maybe you should ask her out," he suggested. "She seemed to really like you. Or at least your butt." He wiggled his eyebrows again, adding to the effect by nudging Sam with his elbow.

"I don't think so." Sam wasn't quite as embarrassed this time, but he definitely avoided Cas' eyes. He looked down at his feet as they continued walking. "I mean - you saw who she left with, right? Besides," he continued, trying to lighten his tone. "I'd rather stick with you, if I'm gonna be in San Francisco."

"If you're gonna be in San Francisco!" Cas scoffed. "You'd rather stick with me at all times, in all places."

A strange expression came over Sam. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right." Cas bumped into Sam as they walked. "I'm always right."

"You should tell Abbie and Bela I said goodbye and thank you," Sam said suddenly.

"I already did." Cas smiled. "I do have manners, you know."

"Really? That's surprising," Sam teased. "You're just usually so rude. I never would have guessed."

Cas snorted. "What can I say? I'm a person of many mysteries."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Are you going to talk to Angel? Like - what are you going to do? I mean - Abbie's more explicit than you are in general. If she was talking about a girl in some vulgar detail, maybe that's why Angel decided to let her go? You might not have to deal with that at all. You don't even want to write about other people."

"Not totally true, but I see what you're saying," Cas corrected. "I'm not worried for me. But I feel like they should know that this feels really unethical. I trust them less - maybe it's all been a massive misunderstanding. I suppose we could even be wrong about what she got fired for - it's all word-of-mouth. I was going to ask, but I didn't want to reopen a very fresh wound."

"I get that." Sam scuffed at the sidewalk as they stopped for a red light across a street. "I just want you to make sure that you're good. Can you do that for me?"

Cas almost laughed. "Can I make sure I understand how not to get fired? Can I make sure I understand how to continue making a living from doing what I've been passionate about for years? Yeah, Sam. I think I can do that - not an issue."

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

The walk sign blinked to white and they started across the crosswalk. The journey home seemed to take significantly less time than it had taken to get to the party. Sam chuckled when Cas mentioned this. "That's because you were looking forward to it. What is there at your place that you don't always have? It just isn't special, you know?"

Cas frowned. "But you're here." He stepped forward to unlock the door to his building. Sam watched, but said nothing. The door swung open and they made their way up the staircase as quietly as possible. Cas seriously doubted anyone in his building was asleep this early on a Friday night, but Sam was insistent.

When they pushed open the door to his bleak apartment, both of them sighed. Cas grinned as he ushered Sam inside. "Not quite the Talbot residence, huh."

Sam shrugged as he flopped onto the couch, like he'd always lived with Castiel. "No, not quite. But if I'm being honest with you, I'd rather be here."

Cas rolled his eyes. "Mushy."

"Honest!" Sam laughed. He patted the couch next to him, inviting Cas to join him. Castiel locked the front door, kicked off his shoes, put the keys in their designated dish, and sat on the very edge of the couch cushion next to Sam.

"Are you tired?" Sam asked after a moment. He was sprawled all the way back against the opposite side of the couch, his legs wide and arms out of the way. Cas fought the urge to curl up in his lap. As comfortable as it sounded, it didn't seem appropriate after the entire debacle at Bela's.

"No." He grimaced. "I suppose these are the consequences of taking obscenely long naps on the off-chance that parties won't get canceled within an hour of getting there."

"Me either. Is it bad that I'm a little disappointed?" Sam asked. "I mean, I feel terrible for them, but - I would have really liked to have a story to tell Brady and the rest of them when I go back to Stanford tomorrow."

Cas shrugged. "I mean, you did dance with Ruby Kristy."

"I know," Sam conceded. "But I mean like - I went to a massive party! I had half a beer. It got broken up in the worst possible way."

"Look at it on the bright side," Cas suggested. "This will probably be all over the newspapers and shit - it isn't like a lot of people can say they were invited to a party by Bela Talbot, let alone there to see her get drunk and throw a glass or see Abbie Dawn get dropped by her label over the phone. There's plenty of gossip to consider about tonight, even if it wasn't the most fun."

"I suppose." Sam raised the arm over the back of the couch and then dropped it again, deciding against whatever he'd briefly considered. "You wanna look at your lyrics?"

Cas looked at the digital clock in the kitchen. "Might as well. Shall we find some places to add in some female pronouns?"

Sam laughed, but it didn't feel quite as genuine as Cas had been expecting. Perhaps it was too soon. "Sounds great. Then I can tell everybody at school I helped my friend write the next big hit single to come out of San Francisco."

"Friend?" Cas scoffed. He watched Sam's face light up in expectation of what he was about to say. "More like best friend. I mean." He started to laugh. "What kind of friends sleep on one mattress?"

Sam looked at the clock. "Best friends."


	7. Chapter 7

Cas very quickly decided he hated this office. It did not feel professional or executive, just cold. Naomi smiled across the desk at him, saccharine-sweet. Her coiffed red hair was out of place today, frizzing at her temples. It might have suited her, if she didn’t have a slightly manic expression to match.

“Castiel, I am so pleased to be able to congratulate you on the songs I’m sure you’re working on.” She beamed and barreled on before he could respond. “The offers are pouring in for you to make some appearances - don’t make that face at me, it’s important to keep in the public eye.”

He slouched in his chair. He hated meeting with the press, whether it be for interviews or photoshoots or talk show appearances. Half of it was scripted and the other half was ridiculously invasive – and he had barely needed to do any, so far. Cas didn’t want to think about how much he would despise it when it was an everyday occurrence.

He also hoped that pouting about the latter might help Naomi forget to press for details on the aforementioned love songs. “Sia doesn’t keep in the public eye.”

Naomi looked up at the ceiling. “Sia’s a better singer than you, I suppose.” Castiel smiled in spite of himself.  She grinned again as she dropped her gaze and caught his expression. “There he is! You know, I can see why posters of your face are starting to sell, when you don’t look like someone’s strangled a kitten in front of you.” She paused to consider her own statement, tapping a pen against her lip. “Although, they still will when you’re making that trademark scowl. And there it is,” she shook her head fondly. Cas couldn’t recall her being quite this personable the last time he had been here.  


She tilted her head to the side, in quite a good impersonation of her client. “How about we make a compromise? Three talk shows or radio spots, but you can choose them. Two photo shoots, but I get to choose them.” Naomi spread her hands as if to draw Castiel’s attention to how good a deal this was. “Yes?”

“One photo shoot.” Cas pressed his lips together. “And. None. Shirtless.”

Naomi sighed. “I’ll let them know.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Naomi tried to look disappointed, but Cas had a feeling she had gotten exactly what she wanted out of the deal. There was no way anyone wanted someone with one single out to do more than one photo shoot. Honestly, even one seemed ridiculous. He cleared his throat to change the subject and she put out a hand. “Wait, we still need to talk about the new music.”  
  
“Hold on - can I talk to you about something first?”  
  
Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Depends. What do you want to talk about?”  
  
Cas took a deep breath and tried to imagine what Sam would do. He certainly wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for a friend who’d been screwed over, even if his heart was beating this quickly. “I was at a party the other day - ”  
  
“Ms. Talbot’s?” Naomi tapped her nose knowingly. “I’m aware.”  
  
“How?” Cas asked, distracted from the larger issue. For one wild moment, he wondered if they had a tracker on him.  
  
“Oh, Castiel. Word travels fast in this industry.” She leaned forward, fingertips pressed together. “So what about the party?”  
  
Castiel stood up, ready to exude passion. “I think you should rethink Abbie Dawn’s termination - ”  
  
She cut him off, head shaking before he’d even finished the word ‘rethink.’ “Absolutely not. Angel does not go back on our contracts, and unfortunately I cannot talk about them with another client. Privacy, you know.” She smiled. Too many teeth were visible, like a shark or a nightmare. “But you know what we can talk about? The new music.”

Shit. Her tone left no room for argument or wheedling. He lowered himself back into the uncomfortable chair. The leather squeaked under him. “What about it?”

His publicist folded her hands together and then unlaced her fingers. “Well. People are really loving you - which is fantastic, of course. We would just love to ride that wave until we pick the songs for the album, and want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Cas narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Oh?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s not a personal slight - it isn’t a slight at all.” Castiel raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. She continued as if he hadn’t moved at all. “We adore your first single, obviously - so does America. But we can’t help but think for the next awards season how nice it would be if we won an award for the album! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

It had to be some kind of trap. Castiel inclined his head, just barely enough to count as a nod. “Of course it would be nice.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound quite as vicious as it did, but Naomi pretended not to notice.

“Terrific. We were thinking that the way to that might involve some horns? Get it sounding a little orchestral.” Castiel visibly relaxed. That wasn’t so bad. He’d been thinking about trying his hand at a more cinematic sound, anyway. “We also have realized, as I’m sure you have, too - hand percussion is huge right now. I’d love to insert some of that into the singer-songwriter type music you’re already doing so well with. How does that sound?”

She smiled at him, her nicely manicured hands folded over one another. He made an absent-minded note to try to stop biting his nails. “That sounds good, Naomi. Thank you for talking to me about it; I appreciate it when we can communicate.” Neither of them mentioned the irony of the statement coming from the artist who missed at least half of his agent’s calls. They smiled.

The moment dragged on just long enough that Cas was scooting toward the edge of his chair again, when she lifted one finger in the air as if she had just remembered the last item up for discussion. He reluctantly leaned back in the chair. “Something else?”

“Yes - I know I said I wouldn’t keep you long; this is the last thing.” She shuffled some of the papers on her desk without reading through any of them. “As you know, your core demographic is teen girls.”

“And?”

“Well, teen girls love your brand of indie music, but they also like songs that they can relate to. Which makes sense, we all like to listen to music to which we relate! What is your favorite kind of music, Castiel?”

All the warning signs were there - talking about teen girls, demographics, trying to make a personal connection - Cas’ shoulders rose like haunches on a hyena. “Instrumental.”

The first crack in her affable veneer started to show. “Of course it is.” She shook her head slightly. “The writing for the songs like ‘Freedom’ and ‘Caged’ is beautiful, Castiel, it really is - yes, I did listen to the recordings you sent me. But they aren’t full of the kind of lyrics that we really want to associate with you. They’re very dark.”

“So, I would imagine, is being a young woman ages thirteen to eighteen.” He pulled himself forward by the metal arms of the chair, ready to argue the point. “You want me to write some kind of … pop music?”

“No!” Naomi waved her hands like circulating the air in the room would explain her point better than her roundabout exposition. “No, they like your … originality. Your uniqueness.” She chose the words carefully.

Castiel didn’t loosen up, even with her reassurance. “So what’s the problem?”

“It’s not a problem, per se. We just think - we know, actually, the numbers are very clear - that if before the album is done, you dropped a single about someone special in your life, it would sell particularly well. And your record would sell even better than it already will. That isn’t so malicious, is it? You should really stop assuming the worst of me.” Naomi reached up and smoothed at her hair. The flyaways remained.

“A single about someone special? Like a love song.”

She made a noncommittal sound and looked down at her hands. “I wouldn’t call it that, exactly. Just a song about how much they mean to you! With some nice lyrics. The kind of song people could dance to at their wedding.”

Cas closed his eyes and started to count to ten. He got to three before giving it up as a hopeless endeavor. “So a love song."

Naomi’s relatively pleasant demeanor dropped almost entirely. “Castiel, be reasonable-”

“No, Naomi!” Cas stood up, eyes ablaze. “That was my only condition on signing a contract with Angel Records. You can gouge me on sales and merchandise and whatever the hell else companies do to take advantage of music artists, but I said no love songs and I meant it. Why is that so hard to understand? I understand that it isn’t in my contract, but I feel that it is the least you can do.”

She sighed. “If you can’t help us out on this, Castiel, I’m afraid that Angel Records is thinking about dropping you.”

“What?” Cas blinked. “Dropping me?”

“Yes,” Naomi examined her nails. “As an artist.”

Cas crumpled his forehead in bewilderment. After all the bullshit with Abbie? He struggled between wondering why Angel could afford to drop so many clients at the drop of a pronoun, and wondering why he even wanted to work with these sons of bitches. “I don’t … care. I’m a talented musician, Naomi - I will have other offers.” His features smoothed out and he smiled a little. “Thank you for the idea, actually. Maybe it would be best for me to find another company.”

Naomi quirked one side of her mouth, so quick Castiel almost thought he had imagined it. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but evidently it must.” She started to pick through the stack of papers in front of her. Each piece of paper got an inordinate amount of attention from her until she stopped at a page about halfway through. Cas noted, with more than a little annoyance, that it had already been flagged with a Post-It note.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

She cleared her throat, as if she hadn’t been having a discussion for the last several minutes. “It states here, on page sixty-two, that ‘any misconduct or refusal to acquiesce to the wishes of The Company by The Artist could and can result in their expulsion from The Company’s rosters as such as’ etc., etc. until a little farther down where we have, ‘The Artist waives their right to these same conditions and is obligated to continue the relationship with The Company until the terms of the contract have been fulfilled or The Company has terminated them, whichever comes first.’” She flicked her gaze to Castiel. “So it looks like you can’t drop us until we’ve released ten albums, doesn’t it?”

Cas closed his mouth, which had dropped open at some point. He had signed that? Suddenly his refusal to have anyone, even Sam act as his lawyer when signing a novel’s worth of legal documents seemed an extremely poor decision. “Fine. Fine. Well, I’m still not writing a love song, so drop me. Who cares? I’ll just get picked up - and the scandal is the kind of publicity you’re always begging for me to get into, isn’t it?” He smirked, pleased to have gotten the better end of the argument, but it faded quickly as Naomi twitched her index finger from side to side.

“Au contraire, Castiel.” She flipped to some of the last pages in the contract, foregoing any illusion of not knowing exactly where she was going. “On page one hundred and thirteen: ‘If The Artist leaves The Company before the terms of this document have been fulfilled, they agree to a non-compete agreement stating that they cannot’ - ”

“A non-compete agreement?” Cas interrupted. His heart felt like it was sinking, desperately trying to tread water somewhere near his spleen. “Let me see that.” He reached across the desk and scanned the paragraph Naomi had just read out loud, which was helpfully highlighted in an eye-straining neon. It was all there, and right under it, his shaky and spiked initials. It was far past the point when he had stopped even pretending to read the document and instead went for a speed-run to get out of the contract as fast as possible. He had missed the fine print from hell, including the sentence after it - “The Artist agrees not to sign with any competing companies, or record/release with anyone other than a representative of The Company for a minimum of ten years after their termination from The Company. Failure to adhere to this stipulation ensures that the Artist forfeits the profits and royalties from all previous releases, future album sales, merchandise,” etc.

Naomi smiled sweetly, a habit that Cas was beginning to hate even more than he had previously realized, and slid the papers back over to her side of the desk. “Well, does that make things a little more crystalline?”

“When I signed with Crowley, he promised me that the contract was compliant with my requests.” Cas said. He rose to his feet, breathing a little more heavily than he had been before. “This is bullshit.”

“Do you have it on camera? Do you have it in writing? This is business.” Naomi swept the contract into a binder and filed it neatly in her top drawer. “So. You can throw a fit as much as you would like, but this is how it’s going to go.” She stood up, all traces of a smile gone. Her mouth was set into a hard slash, and the grey of her suit looked more like armor. “You will write not one, but a minimum of four love songs for your first album. There will be six on your second. You may choose, because we are not unkind, which of those to drop as your first single. Don’t bother trying to fight us - it will only hinder your chances of succeeding, because of the agreement in our little friend - ” She patted the desk. “saying that you aren’t allowed to publicly talk shit on Angel Records. Remember that one?”

He refused to answer, even nonverbally. Somehow, this tiny woman managed to seem as if she were looking down at him, even from half a foot below his eyes. She took a step away from her chair and pushed it neatly into the space it had just vacated. “Do you understand what this means, Castiel?”

“You sons of bitches want to play dolls with people’s careers?” He watched as she stepped casually toward the door and pulled it open, gesturing that it was time for him to leave.

“Not quite.” She laughed, an action at odds with her stance. Cas opened his mouth before he really had time to think of an appropriate reply. His shoulders slumped as he walked toward the hallway. It felt more like he was floating than walking - he wasn’t sure how his body was continuing to move when he didn’t exactly remember giving it an order to. As he ghosted through the doorframe, steadfastly ignoring eye contact with her, Naomi leaned forward. She whispered, “It means we own you.”  
  


  


Castiel could not remember the last time he had been this disoriented. He wasn’t sure it had ever happened. Somehow he ended up outside of Angel Records, still amongst the commotion on the sidewalk.

All he could think about was Naomi’s whisper, echoing in the back of his head as he stood there.

We own you.

We own you.

We own you.

He turned toward his apartment and started walking. It wasn’t close, by any means, and the sun was creeping higher in the sky with every step. But he wasn’t sure what else to do. He briefly wondered if he might be having a panic attack, but dismissed the thought. This was different than that sense of urgency and catastrophe. Castiel couldn’t feel his body. He was sure there were no organs inside his abdomen. Abstractly, he knew that this should be more upsetting than it was. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

So he walked.

He must have been six blocks down before it occurred to him that this would be an excellent time to call someone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He had a text from Sam. Sam. Sam would be good to call.

Cas didn’t even read the message, just called. The phone rang three times before Sam picked up.

“Hey! How did it go?”

“They’re not going to hire back Abbie.” It suddenly clicked that she had probably also signed that damn contract. Suddenly, Bela’s reaction at the party made more sense. If she wasn’t going to be able to record for another ten years…

Sam sighed on the other side of the phone. “That sucks. But at least you tried.”

Cas didn’t answer. He hadn’t really tried. He dropped the conversation almost immediately as soon as his own career was on the line. “I need to write some love songs.”

“I thought you didn’t have to? Just tell them that you’re not going to – you’re within your rights, even if they don’t like it.”

Cas opened his mouth to tell Sam, but something stopped him. Maybe he didn’t want Sam to worry. Maybe he was afraid that he’d be exhausted and exasperated by the lack of care Castiel put into signing the contract in the first place. “I want to.”

“Bullshit.” Sam’s response was instant. “What happened?”

So he told him. The words spilled into the receiver, a little more frantic than Cas had expected them to be. Sam just listened. Cas told him everything, all the way down to the radio spots and the fucking photo shoot. He paused to take a breath and then realized that he had explained everything. “So I need to figure out how to write a love song.”

Sam hesitated. “Cas… this is really heavy. They screwed you over.”

“I know.” Unhelpful. Cas turned the corner, narrowing avoiding a biker who was on the sidewalk illegally. The man flipped him off as he whizzed past. Castiel couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “What am I going to do?”

“Do you … want help?” Sam offered.

Cas was quiet for apparently too long, because Sam immediately began to backpedal. “I mean, you obviously don’t need help – you are entirely capable of writing this, I’m sure, I just meant –”

“No – I would really, really love some help.” Cas nodded, aware that his friend couldn’t see him. “I just – I’m a little in shock, I think. This is not how I saw this going.”

“That’s fair,” Sam hummed. It was a familiar sound of agreement, and a little soothing. “Do you want to – look through some of my poetry and see if there’s anything that you can just take out? See if you can come up with any rhymes? Or would you rather sit down and brainstorm, see if there’s any way –”

“I want to look at your poetry,” Cas interrupted. “I just don’t – I don’t think I’ve ever experienced … this stuff, this way. At least not enough to talk about it creatively. And make it rhyme.” He laughed a little, in spite of the situation. “Also, I’d like to see your stuff. I’ve been wondering about it for a week.”

Cas could hear Sam smile through the phone as he answered. “No problem. Do you want me to come down tomorrow afternoon? My last class gets out at three.”

“Do you want me to just come down to Stanford?” Cas suggested. He thought that it was out of courtesy, but as he asked, he realized that he really just needed to get out of town. San Francisco was lovely, and he was slowly falling in love with his shitty apartment, but it was lonely as hell. He needed to go somewhere new, somewhere with different colors and different people.

Either Sam understood that, or he didn’t want to drive for an hour. “Yeah, that would be great. Do you know where I live?” He gave him the address, which Cas knew he’d need texted to him later. “Okay – I’m actually on my way to a class now – do you want to keep talking? I can be a little late, if you need.”

There was a pang in Castiel’s heart, which had come back online sometime during the conversation. “No – no, that’s okay. Go be a good student. I feel a lot better. Thank you for talking to me.” They said their goodbyes shortly and hung up. Cas pocketed his phone and looked up.

He wasn’t even halfway home.


	8. Chapter 8

The single was called “On Your Shoulder,” and it really wasn't a love song. That is, Cas did not love the imaginary interest in its lyrics. He tried to be as positive as possible, since most of it was cut and pasted from Sam’s words.

Castiel did not like it.

He was the only one.

It blew up, shooting to the top of the charts and setting up camp there. Everywhere he went, Castiel asked people to turn it off. Taxi drivers, friends, even Naomi hummed along to its mindless chorus; a stroke of genius resulted in a refrain that was mostly a mess of “na” and “doo.” They were thrilled by its simple imagery (although Naomi did raise her eyebrows at the lyrics ‘You can be the angel on my shoulder / I’ll be the devil on yours’).

The offers started pouring in – another negative consequence. Cas wrinkled his nose as Naomi listed off the people who wanted to meet with him and the promos they wanted him to shoot. He spent the better part of a day in a tiny studio recording, “Hi, I’m Castiel and you’re listening to 99-7 Now! Hi, I’m Castiel and you’re listening to 98.1, Kiss FM! Alice at 97.3! Wild, 94.9! 92.7: The Revolution!”

His voice was too scratchy. They couldn’t understand what he was saying. Did he need a drink of water?

It was fucking exhausting.

He smiled as he left, waving his fingers at the sound technicians who were not even a little impressed at his star status. He supposed they probably saw minor celebrities all the time. He scoffed at himself. Minor celebrity. What a ridiculous thing to think, even in his own head.

Cas wished that Sam lived closer. He wasn’t even that far away, but Castiel’s lack of a car made things more difficult than he would have liked. There was always the option to take the bus, or a taxi, but lately Cas had been clinging to control a little more closely than usual. When he went out for coffee with Bela and Abbie he always suggested the place, although he didn’t particularly care where they went. He set up appointments with Angel for no reason other than to have something written down in his brand-new planner. He actually went shopping for a new outfit. It was an odd transition, he figured.

Besides, midterms were probably coming up. Cas knew that Sam didn’t struggle in school – he was brilliant, absolutely meant to be there – but he also didn’t sleep very much, even when he only had his own studying to worry about. Sam’s worrying habit, dropping everything in order to help a friend, was not really conducive to passing his classes with the grades he wanted. Cas could chill out.

He couldn’t have written the dumb song without Sam, anyway. They’d sprawled out across Sam’s floor, wedged between a set of drawers and the bed. Papers were strewn everywhere, tiny words curling up and away from the lines. Cas had to admit – it was amazing writing. It was mushy, and it didn’t all make sense to Cas – but it was beautiful. Sam blushed furiously when Cas mentioned the fact.

 

“Shut up.” He cleared his throat, shuffling some papers that had been in a neatly stacked pile. He took a sip of his water.

“No, I mean it.” Cas frowned. “This is the kind of talent I could only dream of. I’ve never met a person with whom I wanted to copulate, but even I know this is baby-making music.”

Sam spit out his drink, choking on his laughter. “Oh my god.”

Cas grinned. “We’re going to start this generation’s baby boom – my chords, your words.”

“Fifty years down the road, when they want an interview with me for some holographic exhibit in the Castiel Milton Hall of Fame, I’m going to tell them you said that.”

“They will all nod and sociologists around the word will sigh in relief. Another population-based mystery solved.” Cas leaned back as much as he could with the knobs of the drawers poking him in the back, his hands behind his head.

After a moment, Sam shook his head. “You’re right, though. I did not intend for this song to be so … sexual.”

“You didn’t intend for the apple in Eden metaphor to be sexual? One of the most well-known symbols for temptation?”

Sam made a sucking sound, his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I – well. It wouldn’t sound quite so hot if you weren’t the one singing it! It’s your voice, dude.”

“Oh?” Cas wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you think my voice is sexy?”

“I mean – it’s not even really up for debate. You’re like a 20s jazz singer.”

“Louis Armstrong, maybe.” Cas suddenly felt very aware of his voice rumbling in his chest before it made sounds. He did _not_ have a sexy voice.

“I mean, believe whatever you wanna believe.” Sam shrugged. “I’m just saying, the comments you get on YouTube that aren’t about how dreamy your eyes are – they’re about how sexy your voice is.”

Cas crumpled his face in indignation, ready to argue before Sam cut him off.

“Just let it happen!”

“I would much rather be known for the quality of my music than the timbre of my voice.” Cas frowned.

Sam sighed and adjusted his position against his bed. “Hate to break it to you, but you can’t always get what you want. Also, voice quality is a part of music, so.” He ducked as Cas threw a pair of socks at his head.

They kept writing lyrics and marrying them to music, late into the night. The song was written in one relatively short session, as soon as they had the idea to make the chorus gibberish. It was a necessity, really – Cas wasn’t sure he could sing about someone’s eyes or the hold they had on his heart while keeping a straight face. And keeping a straight face was one of Castiel’s skills.

Naomi had loved the song. She was thrilled when Cas played her the demo, sweeping him into the recording studio at the first possible opportunity. It was nice to finally have some positive feedback from the people who were paying his bills.  
  
It was recorded in a day. The entire thing was such a whirlwind, Cas didn’t remember every little piece. He was even more sleep-deprived than usual.

Angel’s team of stylists had, at first, despaired over the strange shape of his bones and the deep-cut lines beneath his eyes. The head of the team snapped their fingers with a brilliant idea. “Don’t photoshop out the circles,” they said. “Let’s bring them out.”   
  
The art for Castiel’s second single looked much different than the one for “Anna.” Cas had chosen an old, slightly blurry picture of himself and his sister as kids, running away from the camera. It was nostalgic, maybe wholesome. They both wore overalls.

Hundreds of thousands of people bought “On Your Shoulder,” downloading an mp3 and a picture of Castiel looking surly in heavily contrasted lighting. The hits on his Youtube channel soared. The comments started getting more and more sexual – hardly anyone said anything about the music, except the people who didn’t like it. Naomi said not to look at the comments. For once, they agreed.

  


Bela dragged him to lunch as a celebration. Cas would have preferred a beer in her living room. She snorted and said, “You can get a beer at lunch. We should eat outside – you need a tan.”   
  
“You’re just looking for an excuse to keep your sunglasses on.”

They ate on the patio.

“So, bigshot,” Bela raised her eyebrows as she refilled her water with the pitcher they’d requested. “How does it feel to be famous?”

He turned bright scarlet, the color boiling all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’m not. I mean. I don’t know. I just dropped it today.”

She booed, smiling. “Just soak it in! You’re already doing so well – there’s no way this doesn’t turn into something major for you. Enjoy it!”

“But I’m -” He started to argue, until the person sitting at the table behind them tapped his shoulder. He turned around. Bela craned her neck to see. “Yes?”

There were two girls standing up, leaving their dishes mostly empty. “Hi, I – okay. I’m Amelia, and I just – you’re Castiel Milton, right?” At his single nod, both girls burst into nervous giggles. “Okay, well, I’m Amelia and this is my friend Daphne, and we really love your music. Would you – would you take a selfie with us?”

He turned back to Bela, who smirked in smug satisfaction. He shook his head at her, then turned back to the girls. “Sure.”

They gasped, like they’d thought he might refuse. Amelia fumbled for her phone, and Daphne scooted behind him for the best possible angle. Amelia set her face on the other side of his head and reached out her arm. “Aaaand – great. Oh my god, thank you so much.” They both stepped away quickly, smiles splitting their faces in two.

“Yeah, thank you so much,” her friend chimed in. “We are such fans – we went back and listened to all your old music, and – you are just so, so talented. Thank you for, um, writing songs?” She started to ramble until her friend nudged her in the elbow. “Right. Have a good lunch!”

The two of them booked it out of the patio, their money left in a crumpled heap above the check. As they were leaving, Cas watched as one stopped short and turned to her friend. “Fuck. Was he with Bela Talbot?”

Her friend stopped and looked back for an instant. “Shit.”

They struggled for a second but decided to keep walking. Cas chuckled, turning back to Bela. She was still smirking. “Now who isn’t famous?”

“Apparently you,” he teased. She threw a napkin at him. They continued with their salads.

  
  
  


On Your Shoulder.  – September 28

           published by thursdaycas

  
Although Castiel’s sunglasses were cartoonishly large for his face, anyone could tell that he was squinting into the sun. Bela Talbot waved in the background of the frame. They were sitting on a bench somewhere, maybe in a park. It was surprisingly green.  
  
“Hello!” They said together. She laughed at the juxtaposition of their voices, and he continued on alone. “I just wanted to say thank you to everyone - “On Your Shoulder” has done really well. Obviously I couldn’t have done that without you. So as a little surprise - I thought you should all meet my friend, Bela. Say hi, Bela.”  
  
“Hi, Bela.” She wiggled her eyebrows. They barely peeked over the frames of her sunglasses. “We have a little surprise for you.”  
  
He looked at her like he wasn’t entirely sure what was about to happen. “We do?”  
  
“Sure!” She chirped. “You’ve got two singers on one channel. What else would we do but sing something?”  
  
The frame dropped, both of their heads cut out of the picture as he whispered. “What would we sing? We haven’t practiced.”   
  
“I have faith in you.” She gestured for him to raise the phone again. “If we sound bad, who gives a shit?”  
  
“I give a shit,” Cas said.   
  
“Hush. Do you like Adele?”   
  
Cas laughed. “Easiest interview question I’ve ever had to answer.”  
  
“Great.” She brightened immediately and then dropped her smile for a somber, wistful expression. Cas frowned in confusion as she turned to him on the bench and grabbed his shoulder. “Hello.” Bela let go of his shoulder and pressed her hand to her own chest. “It’s me.”  
  
Cas laughed as she continued, breaking character with a very Bela grin. “I was wondering if after all these years, you’d like to meet, to go over - ” She paused, looking at him expectantly.

He rolled his eyes, with a very Castiel sigh. “Everything.”  
  
They continued together, quiet enough that they weren’t disturbing the other people in the park, until they got to the pre-chorus. “And a miiiiiliooooon miiiiiiiles.” They split into some on-the-spot harmony and looked at each other with surprised approval.   
  
The phone jumped as both of them belted, “HELLO FROM THE OTHER SIIIIIIIIIDE.” It sounded great at first, until they started to laugh, trailing off so that “tear you apart anymore,” wasn’t coherent.   
  
Cas regained his composure first, apologizing to someone off-screen. “Sorry, we’re - we’re filming a thing.” He turned back to the camera, pulling his lower lip down in the universal expression for ‘whoops.’ “Look, you got me in trouble. Good thing I love you so much. Well, until next time, guys! Say bye, Bela!”  
  
“Bye, Bela!” She teased. They turned off the camera, the giggling starting back up again.

  
  
  


Next video playing in 10 seconds.


	9. Chapter 9

Cas was tired of meeting with Naomi. Even if she hadn’t been the human equivalent of clenching your butt when you need to go to the bathroom, he was sick of meetings. There was no reason for them to be meeting, as far as he knew - she had been relatively insistent, though. He trudged through Angel Records, barely looking at the buttons on the elevator or the unfriendly suits in the lobby. It was all always the same.

He hadn’t even bothered to look nice. He looked like the album art for his second single - probably the same art they’d use for the album, since everyone seemed to love it so much. He had a tee shirt and jeans slung low on his hips. Cas felt that a belt was a waste of money. Why not just buy pants that fit? In that same vein, however, pants were very expensive. He pulled the jeans up by the belt loops before entering Naomi’s office without knocking.

She looked at her watch. Castiel wasn’t late. She smiled.

“Castiel. It’s wonderful to see you. Come, sit.” She smoothed out her charcoal sleeves and waited for him to get settled before continuing. “Now, you might be wondering why I’ve asked to meet with you.”  
  
“I wondered on the phone when you called - mostly I’m just annoyed, now.” Cas said without really thinking about it.   
  
Naomi’s smile tightened but she didn’t respond. “As you know, we here at Angel have been thrilled to see the success of your newest single! You’ve had over a million downloads, you know.”  
  
Castiel couldn’t help but be interested at that. He straightened up in the uncomfortable leather chair, aware of his reflection in the massive window looking out onto the city. “Really?”  
  
“Really.” She gave him another smile, but there was something different about it. Cas had never seen her look quite so … soft. “I’m proud of you, Castiel. I know that this isn’t how you wanted to go about it - and I know that it was difficult for you. But you’ve done an amazing job, in spite of some of the ugliness that went on between you and the company. I’m very excited to see this attitude continue in the future.”  
  
He wanted so badly for that to be the end of the conversation. He had a couple weeks to pick which songs he’d written would go on the album - and to write a few more. Angel’s strategy for releasing music was strange, but it was working. Cas had to admit that, however grudgingly. Didn’t mean he had to keep a great attitude.  
  
“So - did you call me in just to say ‘good job’?” He asked her, half-irritated and half-curious. He didn’t have a whole hell of a lot going on outside of his job, but the lack of consideration was frustrating.

“No.” Naomi tapped her lip, trying to decide how to continue. “So ‘On Your Shoulder’ has done well. Exceeded your expectations, yes?”  
  
“...Yes.” Cas narrowed his eyes. It seemed like she was setting up a trap. He’d caught on quickly to her modus operandi. Lay out all the evidence, all the proof. Then anyone who disagrees - well, they sound entirely unreasonable. “What about it?”  
  
She looked down at the table. That was odd. She was usually queen of eye contact. “Been stopped in the street yet? Recognized by fans?”   
  
Was this a trick? He hesitated before answering. “Yes.”  
  
She leaned back in her chair. “Of course you have been!” She sounded so sure, like it had been a ridiculous question to ask, but he thought he saw a glimmer of something like relief in her eyes. “You deserve that recognition. You’ve worked incredibly hard, and -”  
  
“What is this about?” Castiel cut her off.   
  
Naomi shut her mouth and huffed out a little air through her nose. “You’re getting popular enough to be noticed on the street. We’ve had you do multiple radio spots, a couple interviews - haven’t you wondered why you aren’t in any of the news?”  
  
Frankly, it hadn’t occurred to Castiel. He raised an eyebrow and looked up at the pristine, white ceiling. “Frankly, it hadn’t occurred to me.”  
  
“Of course it hadn’t.” Naomi rolled her eyes. “No publicity is bad publicity - that saying works two ways. We need you in the papers, Castiel. Don’t worry,” she raised her hands in defense before he could say anything. “I am not trying to get you to have some kind of scandal. God knows that isn’t what we need. Your fans don’t want to see you wreck a hotel room or get into drugs - they just want to see you happy.”  
  
“Are you sending me on a cruise?” Cas asked.  
  
“We’re setting you up on a date.” Naomi’s eyes were bright again behind the insincere mask she usually wore.  
  
Cas sprang out of his chair. “No.”  
  
“Hear me out!” Naomi pointed at the chair. Cas briefly considered not returning to it. He crossed his arms, but didn’t move towards the door. She waited until the silence was suffocating, then sighed and continued. “It won’t be a real relationship. It’s only for publicity.”  
  
“That’s disgustingly dishonest, even for you,” Cas noted.  
  
Naomi didn’t seem particularly offended. “It’s entirely normal, actually. Most stars have had at least one contractually obligated relationship. Yours, actually, is not written into your contract!” She watched him light up before finishing her thought. “But you’re still obligated to do it.”  
  
Cas sank into the chair, his head in his hands. “I hate this.”  
  
“Actually, I don’t think you will.” Naomi responded with something like kindness. Cas looked up, peeking through the fingers of one hand. “It’s just a set number of times to be seen in public - and you’d probably already be doing them, anyway.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Cas asked, flat.  
  
“We think that you’d be a great match - publicity-wise and personality-wise - with Bela Talbot. You’re already friends, yes? You’re about the same level of popularity, although she has more experience - there wouldn’t have to be ugly contractual nonsense with another company - ”  
  
“But Bela is already dating someone,” Cas argued. He stared at Naomi until she dropped her gaze again. “I’m not going to do that to Abbie.”  
  
Naomi sighed. “We’ve already talked to Bela. She’s fine with the arrangement. It’s just show business.”  
  
“It’s wrong.” Cas said as firmly as possible. He shook his head for added emphasis. “She’s just afraid she’ll get fired if she doesn’t do it.”  
  
“She wouldn’t get fired,” Naomi clicked her tongue in irritation. “She actually suggested you, when we brought it up. You both would benefit from the situation. Besides, you can stage your breakup in six months.”  
  
Cas leaned forward, his arms still crossed. “I said, forget it. Everyone will be able to tell we aren’t dating, anyway - it’ll be awkward and forced if you make us. No one will believe us. There won’t be any chemistry.”  
  
“The hundreds of thousands of hits on your silly little vlog post where the two of you are butchering an Adele song say otherwise,” Naomi replied, as sweetly as if she’d been complimenting a grandchild.   
  
“Please, Naomi.” Cas dropped his arms, shoulders sinking. “There must be another solution.”  
  
She shrugged, looking around the office like one might pop out of the air. “I would love there to be another solution! Do you think I like being the bad guy all the time? Brainstorm with me. What other option is there to keep you from falling off the grid? To help you continue to be successful? You need this, Castiel.”  
  
He looked in all the same places she had. There had to be some other answer. He refused to let Abbie fall into the cracks, and he refused to make Bela watch it happen. “It’s just about the dating, right? They just want me holding hands with someone in accidentally-on-purpose candids?”  
  
Naomi smiled, satisfied that she’d convinced him it wouldn’t be so bad. “Yes, exactly. They just want to see you have a heart! You’re coasting to celebrity on the wings of a love song, after all. Why would you sing those words if you weren’t in love? Na na na, doo da doo daaaa,” she sang the chorus of his song with a grin.   
  
“Then let me find someone else.” Cas blurted it out, unsure exactly where the idea sprang from. “Like you said - people are recognizing me on the street. I can find someone who is willing to fake it for a chance to hang out with a musician and his friends.”  
  
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. You can’t trust civilians with this kind of thing.”  
  
Civilians. Like he was a soldier. “Then what if I actually find someone to date? What if I find someone I can fall in love with for real?” She raised that perfectly arched eyebrow again, disbelieving. He supposed that was fair - he didn’t have a fantastic track record for romance as far as she was concerned. “I’ll join a dating website. I’ll skulk around in fancy, well-lit bars. Just give me a chance to do this for my friend. I don’t want to ruin our relationship with something for work.”  
  
She sighed again. She looked down at her fingernails and picked at one of the cuticles. “You have three days.”  
  
“Thank you, thank you,” he gushed, leaning forward to shake her hand.  
  
Naomi ignored his hand and raised three fingers, her index finger and thumb together in a circle. “Three. Days. And then you’re signing the contract with Bela Talbot.”  
  
“Fine, absolutely.” Cas nodded profusely, sure that the vertebrae in his neck would snap under the stress. “Thank you, Naomi, I appreciate it.”  
  
She waved him out of the office like she was exhausted by his antics. As he opened the door, a smile stretching across his face, she cleared her throat. Castiel turned around to see her smiling, but like she was watching a movie where she already knew the ending - and it wasn’t happy. “Just - good luck. I do truly hope you find someone you’re interested in. You deserve it.”  
  
He nodded again and shut the door behind him, heading to the elevator with renewed motivation. Three days. Three days to find a suitable significant other, someone the press would love.   
  
No problem.  
  


  
Castiel looked for a significant other for two days. At that point, he accepted that he probably wasn’t meant to just come across someone who wanted to spend the rest of their life with him. (Alternatively, he wasn’t willing to spend the rest of his life with someone else.) Everyone was too nasty, or too sexual, or too pretty, or listened exclusively to Justin Bieber.  
  
It became increasingly clear that the problem wasn’t with his dating pool, but rather himself when a beautiful women draped herself over the edge of a bar and all he could think about was that the first and last syllables of her name didn’t complement each other. He hated thinking about how they’d look in print. This couldn’t be how people found their soulmates.  
  
The bar was full. Castiel was twenty-one years old and all he could think was, _I’m not interested_. It was exhausting. He kept checking his phone for a text from Sam or Bela, but all he had was a text from his sister that said “Keep trying!”  
  
After a certain point, Cas felt fairly certain that trying wasn’t his thing. Being asexual was enough of a problem. It didn’t help that every time someone tried to hit on him he resorted to thinking about what Renaissance painters would have thought of their faces’ compositions. They weren’t bad people, but he felt like a bad person for not being interested.  
  
Woman. Woman. Woman. Stunning woman - absolute knockout. Man. Woman. Man. Beautiful man. Woman. Someone of indeterminate gender. Woman. Man. None of them were triggering the pieces of Castiel’s heart that they should have.  
  
He called Sam in a panic, his heart beating at double the proper rate as he leaned against the wall of the bar’s bathroom.  
  
“Sam. I have a day. I have a day, and I can’t find anyone that I’m in love with. I need to be in a relationship - I don’t fall in love! I love the people I love, but I don’t - how can people do this?” He pleaded, frustrated, late on a Wednesday.  
  
Sam smacked his lips together in a tired answer, his sleepiness taking over even as he tried to stay engaged. “I don’t know, Cas. You can’t force yourself to fall in or out of love with people. Believe me, I would know.” He yawned.  
  
Cas ignored his cryptic message in favor of more panic. “Sam. People on the internet don’t like me.”  
  
“Wrong.” Sam rustled his sheets about rather casually, considering it was an hour past midnight. Cas thought (much past the fact) that he might have a class or a test in the morning. “People on the internet like you. You just don’t like them back.”  
  
It felt so obvious that Castiel was almost offended by it. How dare Sam say that he didn’t like people on the internet? Or in bars? It was how people met. Of course he’d like people there, whether face-to-face or through the barrier of pixels and carefully chosen profile pictures. He wanted to pretend that he loved all of them equally - appearances didn’t matter, only their personalities. But it didn’t matter. Even if he was telling the truth - appearances notwithstanding - Castiel hadn’t fallen in love with a single person. He wasn’t even intrigued. He could tell the people he was supposed to be interested in. Skinny blonde girls, thick blond dudes. They were unappealing in the same way that licorice was. He just wasn’t interested.  
  
It was an appalling realization. He was a musician, dammit. The entire point of his existence was to croon over beautiful people. And yet - he couldn’t find someone to be interested in? He couldn’t find anyone who might fit the bill? It was something separate from being asexual. Castiel could have found someone he thought was beautiful, or someone he thought might have been able to spend their life with him. Except he couldn’t. Everyone was too this or too that. They were too picky or too lenient. He watched them slip through his fingers and worried like he’d wanted them there to begin with. Why was this happening?  
  
“You don’t want to be with anyone at the bars,” Sam said. It was so obvious, when he said it. A completely matter-of-fact answer to the question that had been plaguing Castiel for the last two days. Cas tried to let himself breathe normally, but it didn’t happen.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
He could almost hear Sam shrugging on the other side of the line, like it wasn’t freakishly late or rude to ask him to elaborate. “That just isn’t you. I’m sure you’ll find someone. It just won’t be there.”  
  
It rang … sort of true. There weren’t a lot of people that Castiel trusted with the ferocity that he trusted Sam Winchester with. But that didn’t change the fact that he only had one day left to fulfill Naomi’s timeline. It was all sorts of nice to say that there was someone out there for Castiel, just not at the bars in San Francisco - but Cas needed there to be someone at the bars in San Francisco to save his career and Bela’s love life.

“Sam, here’s the thing.” He struggled for a moment, unsure of what to say. “You might be right. Maybe there is somebody for me, out there in the wilderness of establishments that hold liquor licenses. But I am not going to find them tonight.”  
  
There was a silence on the phone, full of something Cas couldn’t name. It was difficult to hold conversations without any facial expressions. He switched the cell phone to his other ear while waiting for Sam to reply. “Sam?”

“Okay. I’m going to suggest something a little wild. You gotta hear me out.”

Cas frowned. That was never a reassuring way to begin a plan. “I’m listening.”

It wasn’t dirty in the bathroom, per se. Grungy might have been a better word. He had picked the cheapest bar for last, assuming that anyone who was out this late on a Wednesday night at this kind of bar was unlikely to be approved by Naomi, anyway. Castiel felt fairly certain that he was not incorrect in this assumption. He wondered if he ought to stop resting his jacket on the wall, for sanitation’s sake.

“Well. If you pick a stranger, you’ll have to either a, be certain that you won’t get tired of them within the next six months or b, take them into Angel to sign a contract about how often they have to see you. Right?” Sam stifled a yawn.

“I suppose,” Cas answered.

Sam continued, “So why not pick someone who that won’t be an issue with? Like, someone that you just can trust to have your back, who knows the whole story?”

Sam could not be insinuating what it would seem he was. Cas opened his mouth to argue but Sam cut him off, speaking faster like he knew exactly what Cas was going to say.

“Think about it. There’s no better solution – you won’t find someone in the bars, and any jackass off the street could screw you over when it came to keeping secrets. Do you want to take advantage of someone? Or have them take advantage of you? The best idea is to use someone that you already trust.”

“I already told you, I’m not going to date Bela.” Cas pressed his lips into a hard line, ready to argue this to a frightening decibel. “It’s wrong. It’s dishonest and I won’t do it to her. We talked about this.”

“What? No.” Sam laughed a little, the sound crackling over the poor reception in the tiny room. “Not Bela. Why don’t you tell Naomi you’re dating me?”

“You?” It sounded crueler than Cas had intended. He wrinkled his eyebrows, confused. “Why would I tell her we were dating?”

There was a rustling over the line that sounded like Sam had crumpled some paper near the receiver, or flailed about in his bedsheets as he sat up to elaborate. “Think about it. What kind of stories do people love? High school sweethearts. I know you really well, so we wouldn’t have to learn trivial nonsense about one another for interviews. I’m already helping you write the love songs that are what started this whole nonsense – and it won’t be a chore or a burden for either of us to spend time with the other one. It just makes sense.”

Cas started to speak, then waited until a toilet was finished flushing. He looked up at the cracked, dingy mirror above the single sink. The drunk guy who stumbled out of the stall passed right by the soap and water and pushed through the door back into the bar. “Are you forgetting that’s why Abbie couldn’t go public?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Sam let out in a rush, like he’d been dreading this part of the conversation. “The people at Angel just care about money, right?”

“Something like that,” Cas admitted. “Money and power and fame and publicity. All the seven deadlies, probably.”

He could almost hear Sam raise an eyebrow. “Publicity is one of the seven deadly sins?”

“It should be,” Cas grumbled. “So what?”

“Think about it. Remember when you said you were uncomfortable about the photoshoots? You’re an attractive dude. They want you to date someone equally as attractive. And you know who gets fetishized even more than beautiful straight men? Beautiful gay men.”

“But I’m not gay.” Cas felt the need to reiterate the point, then looked about the stall just to make sure nobody was listening. That wasn’t the kind of thing he really wanted in a soundbite on the cover of some trash magazine – not while he was trying to get Naomi to do him a favor.

“No, I know – but they don’t know that. And the world at large doesn’t know that. You can convince them that you’ll be a fantastic asset to a whole new demographic! It’s foolproof!”

Cas hated to shoot down Sam’s idea with this much fervor, but it seemed necessary. “They don’t like us, Sam. Angel is not the most queer-friendly group of people I’ve ever met. They probably boycotted Oreo.”

“Wait, okay.” There was a rustling that, this time, was definitely papers. Cas waited patiently while Sam cleared his throat, ready to put the final dagger in any argument Cas might have. “You watched the Grammys last year, right?”

“No.” Cas answered.

Sam sighed. “Okay, well, Sam Smith won. And when Sam Smith won, he talked about LGBT rights, and then, even though he kind of made an ass of himself – his sales went way up. In general, the music scene has been getting super friendly – and you’re in San Francisco! I just feel like it’s worth a try, Cas. What do you have to lose?”

Cas did not believe that Sam’s argument was particularly foolproof. But his last question stopped Cas, resting a hand on the yellow porcelain sink. What did he have to lose? It looked like he wasn’t going to be able to find the love of his life in this nasty bar – surprise. Maybe Sam was his only hope.

“I’ll think about it,” was all Castiel could say. Sam yawned in response and wished him a good night, but not before telling him to actually get some sleep. He’d need to be at his best and brightest if he was going to walk into Naomi’s office and convince her that Sam Smith and a story about high school sweethearts was enough to completely change the studio’s policies – at least on which of its artists were allowed to love whom.


	10. Chapter 10

POP SENSATION CASTIEL DATING LAW STUDENT OFF THE STREET!

CASTIEL MILTON SHACKING UP WITH STANFORD STUDENT

SAM WINCHESTER: MAN BEHIND THE BANGS

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH AMERICA'S NEWEST SWEETHEARTS

CASTIEL MILTON: GAY!

The headlines were everywhere, on every magazine and every billboard and every channel they flipped by. The next week was a constant torrent of false accusations and a barrage of nonsensical inquiries. It went in waves, Cas found. At first it was mostly jarring, with sprinklings of enjoyable moments - sometimes fans or reporters would ask if Sam had any plans to pen another song, since the first had gone so well. He would look over at Castiel and squeeze his hand with a little shrug. "Who knows?"

There was, of course, the inevitable shitstorm that tried to dredge up their pasts. Sam turned on the television to see a photo of his actual high school sweetheart, a pretty blonde girl named Jess, their arms around each other five years ago. He turned off the television.

Castiel's music was subsequently boycotted and banned from multiple states in the Bible belt. Castiel maintained this was no great loss, but Sam found it a little disappointing. It was too far in the future to be dealing with this kind of bullshit. On the whole, the entire affair was positively received. They were shortlisted to win multiple people's choice type awards, they were at the top of the charts, they were soaring above the competition - socially or otherwise.

It had been surprisingly easy to convince Naomi that this was the proper course of action. At first she’d had the same reaction that Cas had - especially knowing that he was aware of the limitations on Bela’s relationship. But as soon as he mentioned that Sam had written “On Your Shoulder,” they’d gone to high school together, and Sam Smith had won a Grammy, Cas could almost see the dollar signs rolling behind Naomi’s eyes. She agreed to a trial run. The two of them were seen in public constantly, touching each other’s faces more than seemed appropriate for two bros. An anonymous source leaked that they’d always been closer than expected for two teens in a small town in the Midwest. The uptick in Castiel’s name in search engines matched the uptick in sales, and the two of them got the approval to go public.  
  
What neither of them had been expecting was Bela’s fury. She showed up at Castiel’s apartment shortly after midnight, the day of the announcement. She knocked at his door significantly louder than he would have expected anyone sober to do so. “Castiel. Castiel! Open up. I know you’re in there. Open up!”  
  
He unlatched the chain and opened the door so quickly that she almost fell inside. “Bela? What’s wrong?” Cas wondered briefly if he’d missed an urgent phone call. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Am I _alright_?” She repeated, sneering like the very phrase pained her to say. “Oh, yes. I feel fantastic. I am just dripping with happiness for you.” She pushed her way past the threshold, stepping into his apartment and sitting back on his sofa like she owned it. “Shall we talk about just how happy I am for you?”  
  
Castiel was not entirely positive what the best course of action was, at this moment. He decided to err on the side of caution and not say anything. He closed the door and looked at her.  
  
She continued like she hadn’t been expecting an answer at all. “How the fuck did you get Angel to let you go public with Sam? I’ve been dating Abbie for _years_ and what did we get? Threats and decreased pay. This is the most bullshit I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I understand that you didn’t want to pretend on the side, but - this is fucked up.”  
  
“Wait - ” Cas shook his head, unsure what she was saying. “Are you angry that I didn’t sign a contract with you?”  
  
“What? No!” Bela grimaced. “I mean, I’m going to be stuck dating some skinny teenager who doesn’t know how to harmonize - but that doesn’t really matter. It’s just the business. I just don’t get it. It isn’t fair.” She unclenched her hands and smoothed her skirt on her lap. “It’s bullshit,” she repeated.  
  
Cas took the chance to sit next to her on the couch. She looked away.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. She looked up the ceiling, unblinking. He wondered if she was trying not to cry. That didn’t seem like something Bela would do, in real life, out of the influence of drinks and the dark. “I didn’t want to force you into a relationship with me - I knew you were okay with it, but I thought it would be cruel to Abbie and to you.” He looked down at his hands. “It didn’t occur to me that you’d just sign one with someone else.”  
  
She cleared her throat and looked at his folded hands. “It just sucks. What the hell is this blatant misogyny?”  
  
“Par for the course?” Castiel suggested. She shook her head like it wasn’t funny, but he caught the hint of a smile. “I know. Do you want to know what convinced Naomi?”   
  
Bela inclined her head, indicating that she would.   
  
“Sam Smith won a Grammy.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up.” She opened her mouth, then turned to stare at a corner of the room like she was a character on a television show staring straight into the camera. “Shut the fuck up.”  
  
“I know.” Cas cringed a little, but smiled when she started to laugh, although it was mostly in disbelief. “I’m sorry.”  
  
She sighed. “It’s okay. You don’t have anything to be sorry for - not really. I wish you would have talked to me about it, first. But you had good intentions.” She let out a little huff of air, shaking her head. “We would have been a good fake couple.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple.   
  
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” Cas wasn’t sure if she’d been sarcastic, but he wasn’t. There was a warmth around his sternum that only appeared when someone had given him something more than he felt he deserved. It was a feeling somewhere between gratefulness and joy, although today he might have tinted those emotions with guilt.  
  
“Well, it means a lot to me that you tried to help me and Abbie. I owe you one.” She patted his shoulder and pushed herself off the couch. “I’m sorry that I came in here, guns blazing.” Bela shrugged, too proud to really show how embarrassed she must be. The color in her cheeks looked more like makeup than blood under the skin.  
  
Cas mirrored her shrug. “That’s okay. Guns blazing is how we usually do it in America.” He smiled as she truly laughed. “Give my best to Abbie?”  
  
“I will.” She took a deep breath and left, much quieter than she’d come.   
  
  
  


Bela’s anger wasn’t even the most interesting thing that Sam and Castiel had to do with in the immediate aftermath of Angel’s announcement. If people had recognized Castiel on the street when he was alone, it was almost impossible to go anywhere without being accosted while he was with Sam.

It was one thing to see the headlines and clickbait about the two of them – Cas had been prepared for that. He had never used his own Twitter, anyway. He was even slowly getting used to the stream of comments on his Youtube channel about how hot Sam was and how they were surely going to hell. It was all part of the deal, Naomi kept telling him. For some reason, he genuinely hadn’t considered what it would be like to be out in public with someone he was supposed to be dating.

He and Sam got pizza at some shitty shop downtown and were immediately ambushed by a crowd of cameras and screeching paparazzi. It was nightmarish to hear your own name from every direction, but recognize no one. The resulting photographs were not particularly attractive – Naomi sighed when she laid them across her desk so that Cas could see exactly how unflattering pizza grease on his mouth was.

“I didn’t know about this group!” He argued.

Naomi shrugged, shuffling the photos back into a pile. “It doesn’t matter. You’re always on the stage.”

And they were. It was exhausting. Cas made sure to get Sam down from Palo Alto or to go down there himself on their scheduled dates for publicity, but he wanted nothing more than to curl up on his bed (which had accrued a frame in the weeks since he’d moved in, courtesy of Angel) and read. Or listen to music. Or stare at the ceiling and wonder what it would be like to feel like he had energy. He sighed and unlocked his phone so that it would stop buzzing. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Sam. It was that he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be unpleasant.

Sam had held up his end of the bargain incredibly well. Naomi remarked on how photogenic he was – how genuinely pleased he always looked to be in Castiel’s presence. There were fanpages for Sam Winchester, and he’d had to come into Angel on more than one occasion to field offers for interviews without Castiel there.

If Castiel was tired, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be Sam at this point. The years Castiel had spent in college were nothing compared to Stanford – finance and political science were very different beasts. Every time he took Sam out for sushi or drinks, Cas bit his lip when Sam yawned or mentioned that he had a test the next day. It was kind of him to help Castiel – and Cas knew that it had been his idea, but he still felt guilty whenever they said goodbye at the end of a date, cameras flashing too close for them to say anything genuine.

The worst was their sixth date scheduled to be recorded. They had released another song of Sam’s, and the owner of the Italian restaurant had given them a free bottle of wine. Cas tried desperately to argue, but he’d insisted. They left the price of the bottle in the tip for their waitress and walked back to Castiel’s place. A black car drove slowly along next to them, snapping pictures of their hands entwined as they laughed about how much parmesan Castiel had shaken onto his pasta. “Why would it be on the table if you weren’t supposed to put as much as you wanted on your food?” He argued.

Sam laughed, the closest to a giggle Cas had heard in months. He was suddenly very glad that Angel had arranged for Sam’s ride back to Palo Alto tonight. Sam reached across his chest with his free hand and tapped Castiel’s nose. “You’re still not supposed to use half a bottle.” He wiggled his eyebrows and squeezed Cas’ hand.

“A nose boop?” Cas asked, unsure whether to be amused or bemused. “Is that the kind of thing that magazines are going to want to see?”

Sam shrugged. “Who cares? I wanted to do it. I would have done it if we weren’t being followed by a pack of cameras. I would have done it when we were in high school. Your nose is very boopable.”

Cas laughed in spite of himself. “Aren’t you a law student? That word can’t be technically correct.”

“Pre-law,” Sam corrected. “And language is evolving constantly. You write songs. You should know that. What would Shakespeare say?”

“Whatever Shakespeare said, it wouldn’t be in a song.” Castiel reasoned. “Are you drunk?”

Sam shook his head. “Nah. Just being silly. You look nice when you laugh.” He nudged Cas in the side to prove his point, which worked spectacularly. Sam grinned triumphantly amidst the sound of shutters. “I bet you money that will be in the tabloids tomorrow.”

Cas couldn’t disagree. They walked up to the steps of his apartment, Sam’s car around the corner. Castiel took a shallow breath and then smiled, patting Sam’s shoulder gingerly. “Well. Good night, boyfriend.”

“’Good night, boyfriend?’” Sam repeated, like he couldn’t believe Cas would say something quite so awkward. He seemed to rethink his shock momentarily. “Yeah, good night, boyfriend. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“You should text me when you get home,” Cas blurted. Something about the long dark car around the corner was making him nervous. It always made him nervous. If Angel had enough money to be spending it on cars that looked like they came out of the third act of a spy movie, they could be investing it on transportation that didn’t look like certain death. “I just want to make sure you get there okay.”

Sam tilted his head to the side and leaned against the wall to the left of the door. “That’s sweet, boyfriend. Will do, boyfriend.”

Cas went red. “Don’t tease me.”

“Or what, boyfriend?” Sam teased.

If this had been a movie, the sounds of the cameras would have disappeared. Music would have swelled around them as Sam leaned in for a kiss. Cas would have let his eyes slide shut, realizing that this was something real. This was something beautiful.

Sam did lean in. The cameras got louder as the two of them bumped into one another. Cas gasped, an army of nervous giggles escaping him. “You’ll break your nose.”

Sam shrugged and smiled, a jaunty little grin that would look great on film. “Worth it.” He tilted forward again and kissed the corner of Castiel’s mouth, then stepped back with a little wave. “I’ll text you when I get home. Night.”

Cas waited until he turned around the corner and unlocked the door hastily, slipping through it before it was all the way open. He watched the black car turn down the street through the pane of glass in the door, then started up the wooden stairs slowly.

Sam was supposed to kiss him. Night six was kiss night. It was okay. Cas couldn’t help but be disappointed that he hadn’t seen the fireworks behind Sam’s head that seemed to accompany every first kiss. He let himself try to believe that it was because they hadn’t pressed their lips together, but by the time that he had opened the door to his own apartment, he was sure that it wasn’t the case.

Castiel knew that he wasn’t in love with Sam, but something not-so-deep-down had desperately wanted to believe that this would change that. Art imitates life. Why wouldn’t staged photos and publicity opportunities? He shook his head and kicked off his shoes, heading to his bedroom without bothering to turn on the lights in the kitchenette.

He plugged his phone into the wall by his bed and pressed his fingers to the corner of his mouth where Sam’s lips had been. This is what people did in movies. He wondered why he didn’t want to twirl, to hold a pillow to his chest and celebrate the moment. He refused to let himself be disappointed. Castiel reached under the metal bed frame and pulled out a box of Sam’s poetry, sorting through the words with careful fingers.

One slip of paper was dated seven years ago. Cas tried to count back the years and gave up. Early high school, middle school. As he scanned the words, Cas remembered Sam’s first girlfriend, who he’d tried desperately to convince himself he was solely attracted to. What had been her name? She dumped him when he asked what she thought about people who liked more than one gender. She was unimportant.

Castiel’s favorite lines Sam had ever written would never make it into a song. Not now, at least. He’d entered into an era of sunshine and smiles, not thoughtful or introspective angst. Cas picked his guitar up from its stand in the corner of the room and strummed a few experimental chords, humming along to his favorite melody for the words.  
  
_“All I want to do is be yours_  
But I don’t know what you need me to be  
I don’t know how to be somebody better  
God, somebody come and change me.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Sam. Did you hear me?” Cas tapped his leg a little impatiently, waiting for him to look up from his notebook.

“Hm?” Sam didn’t look up, just nodding absentmindedly and reaching out with his left hand. He set it on Castiel’s thigh for a moment, then gave it a little pat and went back to highlighting something. “What?”

They had both wedged themselves onto Sam’s twin bed, sitting against the wall across from the window. The bedroom was so small that it might as well have been a dorm. Actually, Stanford’s dorms were probably nicer. There was nothing on the walls, courtesy of the landlord’s ridiculously strict policy for renters. Sam had made do with brightly colored books lined neatly across the top of his dresser and stacked according to thickness in the few spare feet of space on the ground. Cas had never given Sam’s décor quite this much attention – but then again, usually Sam was paying more attention to him.

“Do you want to wait and do this after you’re done with that essay?” Cas asked. Sam looked up in alarm and Cas raised his hands in defense. “It is not a big deal. I know you have a lot going on – it just seems like you’re kind of distracted.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. He shut the textbook and flipped his notebook over before Cas could begin to argue. “I probably just need a break, anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Cas looked over at the rest of the books at the foot of Sam’s bed. “We don’t have to write anything right now. It’s really not a big deal.”

Sam sat up a little straighter, scowling. “It is a big deal. This is your career.”

“And this is yours!” Cas gestured to the mess of textbooks and folders. “Besides, Naomi is just being petty in wanting new songs for the second album. She should be pleased that the first one is already doing so well.”  
  
It was. Cas had managed to decorate his own apartment with actual paintings, and bought a coat that threatened to keep him too warm in the winter. He’d invested in a brand-new guitar and thrown a party of his own after the album’s rapid release - one where he’d been too busy running around and making sure no one smashed his new paintings to really enjoy it. Sam’s name was the first on the album - right inside the physical jacket, with a tiny dedication in Castiel’s shaky handwriting. At least one fan had already gotten “to my life’s love” tattooed on the inside of their wrists.  
  
Cas looked at his best friend and tried again. “What would you be doing right now if I didn’t exist and you needed to take a break?”

Sam opened his mouth and then shut it again. “I – call Dean? I don’t know.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “You don’t want to go for a walk or something?”

“A walk.” Sam looked toward the window’s closed blinds, his shoulders a little tense. “I – don’t know if that’s the most relaxing thing for me right now. Who knows who we’ll run into, right?”

Something in his voice, even with the little laugh at the end of his question, didn’t feel right. Cas frowned. “Who would we run into?”

Sam turned, a little dismayed. “I mean – people with cameras?”

“Oh.” Of course. Cas should have realized. Of course his presence at Sam’s would mean paparazzi crawling out of the cracks in the sidewalk. “Should – do you want me to not come down as much? Then people might not be around your place quite so much.”

It was a tentative, not fully-formed plan, but Sam didn’t need to dismiss it quite as quickly as he did. “No. It’s fine. It isn’t a big deal.” He smiled, a Winchester-trademarked grin that showed off his dimples. “Should we get started on the new song? I have some new … hold on.” He reached over Castiel to dig in a backpack, spilling papers out across his friend’s lap.

“Crap. Sorry.” Sam immediately began to shovel the papers back into the bag, thumbing through the mess of essays and corrected tests and snippets of poetry in the margins of notes for class.

Cas frowned. Sam was usually so hyper-focused in class. He picked a test off the bedspread next to him and looked at it as he began to hand it over to Sam. It was for a political science class with a long description about foreign affairs. The instructor had written across the top in a blue ballpoint pen, “Try studying more and going out less.” He’d barely gotten a D.

Sam snatched the paper out of his hand, cheeks burning as he stuffed it back with the rest of them. “Thanks.”

“Sam,” Cas started.

“Do we really need to do this?” Sam cut him off. He zipped the backpack shut with more aggression than was probably necessary, then lobbed it off the bed.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “I feel like it’s the kind of thing that partners talk about.”

Sam snorted. “Well, good thing we aren’t actually dating.” He patted the notebook that he’d left out and forced a smile. “So. Should we get started on making sure everybody else thinks we are?” He laughed in Castiel’s place, pretending to ignore the lack of reaction. “I really liked your idea the other day about who we are inside, like - ”

“Sam.” Cas said it so quietly, Sam could have pretended not to hear him. He fell silent, but didn’t make eye contact with Cas. “What’s going on?” He was suddenly struck by the circles under Sam’s eyes. Finals were coming up, but he couldn’t remember Sam looking this exhausted. Not for years, at least.  
  
“It isn’t - ” Sam shook his head. “Nothing’s going on. I’m just dealing with a lot of school and all the pictures and - I’ve just got to get used to balancing the pieces of my life.”  
  
He’d been going to Stanford for years, holding down a job 35 hours a week on top of acing his schoolwork to keep his scholarship. Before that, he’d done the same in high school. Sam had never had an absence of difficulties to juggle, but he’d never seemed this worn out. He’d also never lied about the troubles he was facing – at least, not to Cas.  
  
“Okay,” Cas said, as simply as possible. “I am here for you, if you need anything.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam allowed. “So can we get back to writing?”  
  
“Absolutely.” Cas smiled through tight lips, but dropped the expression when his phone buzzed. He shrugged at Sam, who was looking through the unmade flannel blankets for the pen he’d been using to do his homework. Cas pulled the phone out of the pocket of his hoodie, inputting the password and reading the text from his sister.  
  
_Did you ask him yet?_  
  
Cas looked up to check if Sam was paying attention. He was grumbling to himself, unzipping a side pocket of the backpack in defeat. Cas quickly replied, then tucked the phone under his leg.  
  
_He’s stressed and acting weird - maybe because of finals. Would you go with me instead?_ _I don’t want to make him feel obligated._  
  
They started working on the words and music, but it wasn’t quite as flawless a connection as it usually was. Sam kept yawning and glancing over at the window. He suggested rhymes that completely destroyed the syntax of the line. After a botched harmony when Cas wondered if a fifth or third would sound better, Sam finally sighed and deflated, leaning against Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m tired.”  
  
“I can tell.” Cas laid his hand palm-up on his lap, waiting for Sam to put his hand in it. They sat like that for a second, hands lightly touching. Sam’s hair was longer than it had been in years, and it tickled Castiel’s cheek as Sam rested his head on his shoulder. Cas wondered if he was going to grow out the bangs.

Sam was quiet for a long moment before saying, “Maybe I should take a nap.”  
  
“That sounds like a great idea,” Cas agreed a little too quickly. Sam moved his head just long enough to shoot him a tiny glare. “For me, I mean. I would love a nap,” Cas amended.  
  
Sam leaned back as far as the wall would let him and yawned again, stretching his long arms toward the ceiling. “Okay. Give me a minute.”  
  
“I actually need to go to the bathroom. Do you want to put on pajamas?” Cas teased as he scooted to the end of Sam’s bed and hopped onto the floor. He didn’t wait for an answer, just slipped through the door and headed to the bathroom.  
  
He paused outside the closed bathroom door, unsure whether or not it was occupied. He took a step forward and knocked. There was a grunt from inside - Cas hoped it was more a desire to stay nonvocal and less an expression of constipation. He leaned back against the wall and waited, glancing out at the living room.  
  
Sam and Brady’s front room was decorated with a string of Christmas lights shaped like chili peppers and some memorabilia for a sports team with which Cas wasn’t familiar. Neither seemed particularly like Sam’s decision. If there was a focal point in the decor here, it would have to be the massive television that sat in the middle of the room in front of the sagging futon. Cas wasn’t sure if Sam wasn’t fond of decorating, or if this was basically Brady’s territory. He did know that he had rarely spent time anywhere but Sam’s bedroom. Cas had just enough time to wonder if that was odd before the door to the bathroom swung open.  
  
Brady took a step outside, scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel before looking up and seeing Cas standing there. “Oh. Hey,” he said. Cas wasn’t sure why the moment was quite so uncomfortable. He doubted it had anything to do with Brady’s shirtless torso. Brady didn’t seem the type to be bothered by that. “You hanging out with Sam?”  
  
“I don’t have a key to your apartment,” Cas said. What a ridiculous question. They stared at each other for another long moment before Cas tried again. “Can I use your bathroom?”  
  
“What? Oh. Yeah, knock yourself out.” Brady shot him a smile before heading back down the hallway toward his bedroom. Cas felt his eyes on his back as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.  
  
He did his business in short order, making sure to wash his hands on the way out. Cas looked at himself in the square, boxed mirror above the sink. He still didn’t look like a celebrity. He still had (what were apparently becoming iconic) bags under his eyes, but they weren’t quite as pronounced as Sam’s. Maybe it was just that his were genetic and familiar. He looked about for a hand towel and was not surprised to find that there wasn’t one. Whatever Brady’s faults in decorating, their apartment was still quintessentially collegiate.

 

Cas let himself back into Sam’s room and stopped, his eyes falling on Sam holding his phone and frowning.  
  
“Cas - it buzzed like eight times in a row. What is Anna talking about?”  
  
He froze. Shit. Cas took a few steps forward and reached out for the phone. Sam dropped it into his hand without a fight, but raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer.  
  
_What?_  
  
_Fuck no._  
  
_I refuse to get dolled up and I refuse to answer a bunch of questions for someone who can edit them together weird._  
  
_Why wouldn’t you bring Sam???? ‘Stressed’ doesn’t mean anything_  
  
_Isn’t that kind of the point of having a fake boyfriend? So you have someone to bring to events?_  
  
_Don’t make excuses just go with him omfg_

Cas felt like he’d been caught in some kind of lie. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong, he was relatively certain, but Sam looked like he’d walked in on him strangling a pet. He slumped back onto the bed next to Sam, looking up at the ceiling for some kind of strength in whatever god might lie beyond it. “There’s a red carpet event later this week, and I have to go.”  
  
“Right, I figured that out.” Sam made a face, like he was exhausted by all this preamble to the real explanation. “Why didn’t you want to ask me? I’m not so stressed I can’t do the thing that you told your boss I’d do.”  
  
“It’s a last-minute thing - I know you need to schedule our outings around your school. Sam, this is more important than whatever shit Angel wants me to do.” Castiel gestured angrily to make his point. “They’ve got me on a leash, but not you. I can take Anna. She’s been wanting to fly in for months, anyway.” It wasn’t a lie. Anna was pretending to be significantly more put-out by the idea of renting a dress than she actually was, Cas was sure. She just didn’t want to step on the toes of a relationship she was sure was on its way to true fruition.  
  
“But, Cas - I want to go.” Sam sighed in frustration. “This is the kind of thing that might actually be really fun, and you’re just going to decide I can’t do it? You don’t know what I’m going through.”  
  
“Sam-”  
  
“Asking if maybe we should cut down on our visits so I can focus on my schoolwork? You do realize that everyone knows who I am now, too, right? My face is on the magazines being sold next to the album covers with your face on them. People are talking about me in the hallways, and in class, and coming up to me and saying weird shit - and it’s _fine_ ,” he emphasized as he saw the horror dawning in Castiel’s eyes, “I am more than happy to do this for you. But you gotta let me in on things. It’s only fair.”  
  
Cas scoffed, in spite of the sinking feeling in his gut. “But you didn’t bother to tell me you were dealing with all that shit here?”  
  
Sam shrugged, some of his anger dissipating as he realized the mutual imbalance in their trust. “What could you do about it? I was never going to stop helping you. This isn’t the kind of thing that’s going to ruin my life, you know - I can come back to Stanford in a couple months, maybe a year or two after you’ve settled some of this crap with Angel. Or I could just crash on your couch until you’re rich enough to afford a mansion,” he joked. The smile faded from his face as he realized Cas didn’t find it particularly amusing.  
  
“Are you thinking about dropping out?” Cas asked.  
  
“I mean - ” Sam looked down at the backpack he’d kicked off the bed. “Not really. I won’t. I don’t want to lose my scholarship. It’s just harder than I’d expected, dating a rising star.” He patted the patch of blankets next to him, motioning for Cas to move closer.  
  
“This is why I didn’t want to invite you.” Cas took a deep breath. “I just want you to be able to be as normal as possible, even if the rest of this crap is - crap. Do you want to come to the show?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam answered immediately.  
  
Cas raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what it’s for.”  
  
He shrugged. “Don’t care. I’m just excited to be arm candy in a suit.” Sam linked his arm with Cas’, teasing him with a grin.  
  
Cas chuckled and rolled his eyes simultaneously. “What do you think you usually are?”  
  
“Arm candy in jeans.” Sam quirked his mouth to one side in an imitation of disbelief. “Obviously.”  
  
“Fine,” Cas allowed. “You can come. I’m warning you, it’ll be terrible, though.” He looked down at their linked arms, and Sam let go with a sudden burst of self-consciousness. “At least I’ll have you.” He smiled reassuringly. “Did you still want to take a nap?”  
  
Sam hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if what he was about to say would upset Cas. “Actually - I know I said you could be over here until like eight, but - I think I should probably get started on my homework.”  
  
It was the most romantic thing he could have said, as far as Cas was concerned. He thought about the other night and turned his head, brushing his nose against Sam’s jawbone. This was just as weird, he figured, as the time they’d slept on the same mattress and the insinuation that they’d do it again today. He heard the breath hitch in Sam’s chest and was disappointed to note that his didn’t do the same. Maybe this wasn’t the moment he’d thought it was. He gave Sam’s cheek a quick little peck, then drew back with a cheeky smile. “I think that’s a great idea.”  
  
“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow and smiled in spite of his flushed cheeks. “Seems like you kinda want to stay.”  
  
“Do your homework, District Attorney Winchester,” Cas teased as he pushed himself off the bed.  
  
“Ugh. I promise you, that will never be my official title.” Sam shuddered theatrically. He jumped to the floor, gathering up some of the scattered pieces of poetry and handing them to Cas. “You can check those out, if you want.”  
  
“I would love to.” Cas smiled and reached his arm around Sam’s shoulder in half a hug. “Shall I pick you up? Will you have a suit?”  
  
Sam smiled. “I think I can get it taken care of. Thanks, though.”  
  
As the door shut behind Castiel, he waited a moment in the dim hallway. He heard the lock turn behind him and then Sam step away, calling, “Brady? Do you know where to find a tailor? Or a suit?”


	12. Chapter 12

The red carpet was not quite as red as Sam had expected it to be. It was, in contrast, exactly as dingy as Castiel had expected. It couldn't be anything else, given how many stiletto and loafers trampled its surface tonight alone. Cas wondered if they recycled the carpet, or if it was brand new each time.

It rained on the night of the awards show, a steady trickle of precipitation above the sea of well-dressed musicians and their dates. This didn't bother Castiel. He was one of the many aforementioned well-dressed musicians, and his date was just as aesthetically pleasing. The two of them struck imposing figures in their stark, dark suits. Cas pulled at the neck of his blue tie, uncomfortably. Sam dazzled in his, like he'd been born to walk down long stretches of carpet in beautiful clothing. The cameras flashed so brightly that it was a little difficult to see anything other than the bright red road ahead of them.

"Sam!"

"Castiel!"

"Cas!"

"Sam Winchester!"

The crowd on either end of the ropes was a mess of people shouting their names. They were a sea of faces. Cas was still a little unsure how that could be possible. They waved their phones, their signs, and their hands. There was nothing to do but smile and wave back while trying to get inside as quickly as possible.

There were two interviewers that they were supposed to stop for - no excuses. Naomi had snapped her fingers in front of Cas’ face and asked him to repeat their names and descriptions. Twice. It was non-negotiable. Cas looked over at Sam, whose cheeks must have been cramping with the amount that he was already smiling for the cameras and the fans. He shouted back to them, “We love you too!”

Cas rolled his eyes. "You know they can't hear you, right?"

"Sure," Sam answered, his mouth still upturned as he pointed at a group of fans and a chorus of screams answered his actions. "But they can see us."

He was certainly not wrong. Cas tried his best not to sigh, but walked over to the rope separating the fans from the musicians. It felt dirty, how jaded he felt about these fans. They weren't less or more than the other people who had helped him get this far in his career, he tried to tell himself. But he was keenly aware that his original audience didn't live in Los Angeles, and they probably couldn't afford plane tickets to fly there. (Nor would they have been invited to a lowkey awards show that Castiel didn't even bother to announce on his vlog channel.)

The group of people outside of the golden rope, Castiel felt, wasn't indicative of the people for whom he wrote his music. They were thin, and tanned, and he was sure that every single one of them would fall in love and have sex with someone else in their lifetime. It was shallow and unfair, but he felt no connection to them. (This might have had something to do with the various signs along the lines of  "Castiel: MAKE ME BABIES.")

The two interviewers that they were supposed to talk to were coming up on the slow walk into the venue. One was a gorgeous man with dimples and a well-pressed suit. The other was an equally beautiful woman with curled blonde hair and a dress cut to her knees. Cas couldn't imagine talking to both of them at the same time – or even one after the other. Their very appearances were exhausting. He looked at Sam for a second, ready to complain, but was answered by what looked suspiciously like a wink. Cas opened his mouth, about to ask what Sam was up to, when his date strode over to the woman with a thick microphone and leaned against the rope, much to the delight of the fans on the other side.

Castiel took a deep breath and approached the other interviewer. He might have been from a different station - or maybe he was from the same one. Cas had never been entirely sure how entertainment television worked, and when he'd asked Naomi she had answered with laughter - what a ridiculous notion, that someone in this century didn't understand the notion of reality tv set on the red carpet. He had smiled, tight-lipped, and then forgotten to ask Sam on the way to the event.

"Castiel!" The interviewer smiled, his teeth a dazzling white. Cas wondered how they looked anywhere close to natural on camera. "How are you doing tonight?"

"Fine," Cas answered. The interviewer's smile did not falter, but it occurred to Cas that he ought to have been a little more enthusiastic. "Fantastic, I mean."

The interviewer grinned, his cheeks splitting a little wider. Cas rethought his earlier idea that Sam's face must hurt. This man was either a martyr for his art, a masochist, or under severe anesthesia.

"Do you think you'll be winning any awards tonight? I heard that you’re shortlisted to perform at the Grammys. That seems like a good reason to believe in yourself, right? What do you think?"

Cas frowned. What if he didn't win? Would they play this clip and make him seem cocky? Or alternatively, would they use it to show how he'd been so humble he hadn't deserved it? "I was expecting to be asked what I was wearing, to be really honest." He did an entire twirl, much to the delight of the crowd behind him. "I practiced saying the name of the designer in Italian and everything."

"Well, I wouldn't want to deprive you of that opportunity!" The interviewer laughed. Cas wondered how genuine it was. "Don't leave the clothes to the ladies."

"Tonight I'm wearing a genuine Frank Devereaux," Cas gestured to his body, then stopped. "Damn. That's French, isn't it?" To his delight, the interviewer laughed again. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only one the cameras liked. "Ah well. Either way, I appreciate the look that the designer has done for me, and I hope I'm wearing it well enough to make an impression!" Cas looked right into the camera, wiggling his eyebrows to make a statement.

The interviewer shook his head. "If there's anything I can say for sure tonight, it's that you're making an impression." He gestured over his shoulder to the group of fans who seemed ecstatic to have anyone even motion near to them. They hollered and screeched in equal measure. Castiel and the interviewer both smiled, as if the sounds didn't hurt their ears at all.

He continued, his voice a little louder over the background noise. "Your relationship with Sam has been all over the tabloids - what do you say about being the first gay couple signed by Angel Records? You've already contributed to some really positive LGBT causes - "

It was not conducive to the image he was trying to portray, and it wasn't anywhere close to what Angel would have wanted him to do, but Cas interrupted him. "Like what?"

The interviewer froze, the smile still on his face. "Ah - you know. The - the strength that you lend to teens ... who are gay ... across the United States...."

"So - being gay is contributing to a positive LGBT cause?" Cas raised an eyebrow. He was relatively certain that the interviewer was pumped full of Botox, because there was no other way that he wouldn't be sweating at this point.

"I mean - visibility is important, right?" He laughed uncomfortably before changing the subject. "So your latest album! It's done incredibly well for a debut. Are you sporting the iconic blue tie tonight?"

Cas looked down at his tie and frowned. It hadn't occurred to him that people might think he was wearing the tie as a kind of homage to his own album. The cover had him in some poorly saturated photograph, dramatic lighting over his face and a backwards blue tie slung over his shoulder. The stylist and the comments on the internet said it looked erotic. Castiel thought it looked like a noose.

"I suppose," Cas answered. "It isn't the exact same tie. Nor was it intentional. But it is a blue tie. So. Whatever that means to you." He shrugged. The interviewer paused, unsure of what to say next.

“Oh, and by the way – there are a lot of great resources out there for kids who aren’t straight.” As he listed a few, Cas couldn’t help but be a little pleased by the fluster in the interviewer’s face. He supposed that he wasn't the best interviewee. Cas pretended to look over his shoulder and be distracted by Sam, making up an apology and a farewell to his microphone between walking over to the opposite side of the aisle.

He walked up to the blonde woman, ready to pull Sam out of this farce of an interview, only to find her and the people nearest to him dead silent and wide-eyed.

"Castiel isn't just a boyfriend," Sam said. He looked into the camera with the most genuine look Cas had seen thus far on the carpet, and he had eavesdropped on the conversation between Beyonce and Jay-Z. "Cas is ... so much more to me.

"He's my best friend. He's always been my best friend, ever since I got old enough to want someone other than my older brother. He stood up for me when I was still a scrawny little pipsqueak - yeah I know." Sam chuckled as his interviewer scoffed. "You can look up the pictures; I promise I was nothing to look at ten years ago. But Cas - he always saw something in me."

He took a deep breath and continued. "I remember when I started at his school. He must have known that I was new. I mean, obviously - it was fourth grade, there's no way he didn't recognize me and figure I must have just escaped his notice for the previous four, five years. It was recess on my first day, and some massive kid was giving another kid grief."

Sam winked at the camera, causing a fresh set of aw’s from the crowd. "I know that now it's fun to look at how tall I am versus Cas - but people have a tendency to forget how tall he is. He's over six feet tall! And back then, he was already long and lean." He wiggled his eyebrows, which started a wave of giggles. "Cas stepped in. The guy backed off immediately, and Cas asked if the kid was okay.

"I wasn't the one getting bullied or anything - people mostly just ignored me, the first couple of days. I got switched around schools a lot because I had a terrible habit of rushing headfirst into the kind of situations Cas had diffused, but with no physical strength to back myself up. It was the first time I'd ever seen somebody else care as much as I did about the little guy."

He paused. Cas wasn't sure he'd ever seen Sam talk this much to such a large group of people. Introversion didn't seem to stop him, though, as he addressed the interviewer with another kind smile. She looked like she was melting into pure admiration.

"That was when I knew. He was the one." Sam looked away from the camera and locked eyes with Cas. He lit up, his entire posture changing, his smile shifting into something else. "He's always been the one."

A chorus of aw's sounded behind the two of them. Cas felt that this was the kind of moment where he ought to smile - certainly, if Sam had shared that story to him when they'd been sitting on the sofa, he would have grinned like a thousand-watt bulb. Instead, he felt a little sick to his stomach. He blamed it on the lights, tainting his vision and his guts as they flashed.

Sam reached out a hand and Cas laid his own in it, waving behind them as they departed from the blonde interviewer and the crowd of fans. The sound didn't die away as they walked. It was simply replaced by the screaming and catcalling of new groups of people on either side of them as they walked forward.

"That was a nice interview," Cas murmured.

Sam shrugged. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true." Cas couldn't disagree. They found their seats in the auditorium fairly easily, settling into a reasonably quiet night of watching Castiel's peers perform and be recognized for their previous performances. There was a lot of singer/songwriter bullshit that made Cas raise his eyebrows and Sam roll his eyes.

"They aren't as good as you," Sam whispered as they applauded a small girl with a guitar and an incredible set of pipes.

"They're better," Cas whispered back.

As the night rounded to a close, a blond man in a tight black v-neck took the stage. He seemed massively familiar. "Alright, alright," he drawled in an accent from somewhere across the pond. "As you know, the Grammy nominees were announced tonight." He spoke over the roar of sudden excitement with a roll of his eyes. "Yes, yes, it's very exciting. Here's the thing - I don't particularly care about most of these categories. You know there's a Grammy for best comedy album?"

The resulting laughter let Cas and Sam know that this was a joke. (Ironic, due to the subject matter.) The man at the microphone grinned but gestured for everyone to calm down. "I'm going to read out the nominees. Nobody get too crazy, alright? We only have this venue until the end of the night."

He read the nominees with an appropriate mixture of respect and irony, depending on who was included in the category. Cas was just beginning to stop wonder where he knew the man from when he started the last category of the night.

"And here it is, the category that you've all been waiting for. Best New Artist! The only reason to show up to this joke of a night - who honestly gives a fuck as to who was nominated for Best Guitar Riff in a Singer/Songwriter Song Released In the Last Six Months, or whatever they've been awarding?" He laughed again, to less of an echo. Cas imagined an unamused panel somewhere, making a note not to invite this man back the next year.

"Best New Artist, alright." He listed off the nominees. Cas could feel Sam tensing next to him, like he expected Cas to be on the list. He was not. Cas was a little surprised to realize how disappointed he was by this. It was an arbitrary award. There were more than five artists who deserved to be nominated - it was not a surprise at all that he wasn't included. Sam still squeezed his hand as the last group was named, excluding Cas.

The man on the stage looked to the right, cupping his hand around his ear theatrically. "Oh, fuck." He shrugged, big enough so that the audience could see it. "It turns out that the category you've all been waiting for, as far as the Grammys are concerned, is not Best New Artist - after all, Meghan Trainor won last year." He scanned the audience as if looking to see if she was there. "No offense to Ms. Trainor. I mean, other than the obvious. Now, here we go with Record of the Year!"

He began to name off the records with a sense of gravity that had been missing this far in his presentation. Cas found himself leaning forward in his seat, like the outcome could personally matter to him.

Cas didn't recognize the first artist, nor the song. He recognized the second song, but not the artist. Then he heard, "‘Rabbit’s Foot,’ by Bela Talbot!" The applause that followed was substantial, but not enough to disguise the yell and whistle that came from his seat and Sam's. He was sure that wherever Bela was sitting, she'd be embarrassed enough to make the dirty looks worth it.

"Wasn't expecting this - but ‘Omaha,’ by Rufus Turner!" The older piano star was a row away from Sam and Castiel, and he did not seem nearly as shocked as the rest of the room. Cas wondered if he'd been tipped off ahead of time. Then again, the song's nomination didn't surprise Cas as much as it seemed to surprise the other musicians in attendance. It was a beautiful piece of work. It deserved its place in the category.

"Last but not least," the host continued, making a show of squinting at his notecard, "We have – ‘Anna,’ by Castiel Milton!"

The room erupted into semi-enthusiastic, semi-polite applause once again. Cas was still, unsure about exactly what was going on. Sam turned to him, hooting with joy.

"That's you!" Sam cried, shaking Castiel's shoulder. "That's your song!"

Something in Cas stirred just enough to take note that it was “Anna” that had been nominated, not the love song that Angel had so desperately wanted him to write.

 

 

 

This was sweeter than anything he could have ordered from the restaurant where they went after the the announcement - sweeter than dessert or revenge or romance. It was the feeling of accomplishment, and Cas didn't ever want to let it go.

He checked his phone, halfway through his second glass of wine. He had thirteen text messages. Sam motioned for him to answer them, the grin on his face fixed there like someone had superglued it on. Cas didn't want to ruin it by letting him know exactly how unlikely it was that he'd win without being nominated for anything else. It didn't seem to matter, in the moment. The only song he'd released and recorded completely on his own merit was the one that the panel had decided was worth the nomination.

Bela had left him four of the thirteen messages. Two were comprised completely of emoji - there were significantly more tongues than Castiel had anticipated.   
  
Nine of the messages were from various people wishing Castiel well. One was from Abbie, one from Naomi. Seven were from people he’d attended high school or college with, suddenly interested in Castiel in spite of a years-long silence. Word traveled quickly on Twitter, apparently. Dean was amongst these, but Castiel figured Sam must have told him.   
  
The other two from Bela were an insistence that they throw a party, immediately.  
  
_You don’t need to have it at your place - my uncle and I are setting my house up right now. He’s got people who can do it way faster than you’d think possible. Let’s celebrate!_  
  
Okay, party starts in half an hour. BE HERE!!! I want to say congratulations - let the best song win!  
  
Her second text was followed by the purple smiling devil emoji. Cas frowned at it, then looked about for the waiter, who appeared from the mass of white-clothed tables and well-dressed patrons. Sam looked at him, a hand on his own phone. Cas realized he had probably gotten the same texts from Bela, if not a set ordering him to convince Cas to her place.  
  
“Let’s go to Bela’s,” he said.   
  
Sam cheered, reaching for the check. Cas frowned, snatching the bill out of his hand.   
  
“This night is about you!” Sam protested.  
  
“This wine was over a hundred dollars,” Cas responded.

Sam went red and opened his mouth to argue before Cas cut in. “And I was the only one who drank any wine. The party’s for me. I can buy dinner for my date.”  
  
There was a pleasant lack of cameras around them for the night - Cas felt like he couldn’t remember the last time they’d just been able to be the two of them, somewhere out in public. It did help that the restaurant was full of musicians who had just come from the show.   
  
“It will take us a while to get back to San Francisco,” Cas mused. His thumbs hovered over his phone as he tried to figure out the waiter’s tip without using a calculator.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He broke into a grin. “I’ve never been to an afterparty.”


	13. Chapter 13

Bela’s penthouse was not a small place. Castiel hadn’t entirely appreciated the scope of it the last time he’d been here – it somehow seemed bigger when it was full of people who were there solely to congratulate him and Bela on their success. And to get drunk. But mostly the former.

Now, it was crowded. The support from what seemed to be every recording artist, studio musician, and coffee runner he’d ever met was claustrophobic. On the plus side, if he passed out from the sheer number of people at this party, there was no way someone wouldn’t catch him.

The music pumping through the speakers was so loud he could feel it in the floorboards. The people talking over the music were so many that Cas couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was an entire room of indiscernible noise, except for a smattering of high hats and other electronic drumbeats over the seemingly wordless shouts. Bodies danced; they weren’t so much people with histories and names, but a conglomeration of a hundred shapeless extras with a collective sense of rhythm. It was late enough for the lights to be turned on, but they had been intentionally left dark except for the colored bulbs by the balcony. Faces swirled into vision before disappearing into the crowd, hands on hips on hands.

Cas thought he might need some air.

It was unthinkable, how quickly Bela had pulled this off. Unnecessary might be another word Castiel was inclined to use, but Sam had let him know in no uncertain terms that it would be rude. So instead, he smiled and excused himself to the balcony.

A man in a deep black v-neck cried out when he saw Cas, sweeping him up in the kind of embrace that comes from a lifetime of knowing someone - or drugs. It had to have been the second, in this instance.

“Castiel!” He cried, squeezing Cas’ ribs. “Cassie!”

“I - ” Cas started before being put down just as suddenly as he’d been picked up.

The tall, slender man thrust out one hand and grasped Cas’ arm as he guided it to his own hand. “Balthazar Talbot. It is wonderful to finally meet you - I have heard such good things!” He stopped and looked thoughtful, his eyes trailing up toward the stars. “Of course, mostly I just mean the things you’ve recorded. You’re pretty quiet, as far as the tabloids go. What are we going to have to do to get you to start a scandal?” He laughed at his own joke, his accent lilting in the same direction as Bela’s.

Cas frowned. It took some self-control not to say, “I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you?” He seemed dimly familiar in the same way you might recognize a Rottweiler if you’d only ever seen a beagle.

He managed instead, “Should I know you?” before immediately realizing that he had been the awards show emcee – just a little more rumpled.

Any worries he might have had about offending Balthazar seemed unfounded. He just chuckled again and reached down to a patio table covered in multiple ashtrays. A crumpled pack of cigarettes lay closest to him and he slid one out with minimal effort. “That’s alright, I would have slept through the show, too, if they hadn’t paid me to be a last-minute replacement.”

It made sense, Cas supposed. They were both thin, sophisticated, and obviously not American. A little part of him felt a twinge of jealousy – what would it be like to invite family members from a different generation to your party, let alone a party that was predicated on a stranger’s success? (And cocaine, if what he’d seen in the bathroom was any indication.)

“I see.” There was a short pause in the conversation while Balthazar took a drag on his cigarette. Cas looked out into the city. Lights twinkled for miles. He shook his head. Didn’t anybody sleep, here? “And what do you do?” That was proper conversational etiquette.

Balthazar snorted – not quite a laugh, but definitely not serious. “Not a hell of a lot, honestly.” He gestured with his cigarette. “Mostly I’m a low-budget party planner for our less social clients, but Bela’s pretty damn good at pulling this sort of thing off herself.” He shrugged. “I get paid the same either way – gotta love salary gigs, especially when the benefits are largely drugs and alcohol.”

He raised his eyebrows and leaned down to fetch a glass of something dark off the same table, raising it in Cas’ direction, in some attempt at a salute. Cas shifted from one foot to the other, saying nothing until a thought struck him like a chord.

“Oh, you were at the last party Bela had,” Cas started at the realization. “You were in the kitchen before Abbie got that phone call.”   
  
He sighed, rubbing at his chin like it had been just as stressful for him as it had for Abbie. “Sounds likely. That’s about where I remember being when I had a glass thrown at my head.”  
  
“What?” Cas laughed in surprise until he remembered Bela’s anger and her runny mascara. He stopped. “Why did she throw a glass at you?”

“Has - ” Balthazar narrowed his eyes, shaking his head like he knew it was a preposterous question. The sudden tension in his thin face made it apparent how much older he was. “Has Bela not mentioned me, before now?”

Castiel suddenly realized that Balthazar was the kind of man who might be upset by this revelation. “Um.”

The suave man tapped his designer shoe once, shook his shoulders, and brought his fingers together in some kind of calming symbol. “That’s alright. It’s just interesting, is all. You get your niece a gig that leads to a recording contract that leads to a multimillion dollar career – it’s fine.” He smiled. His straight white teeth and bright blue eyes softened whatever negative emotions he might have been feeling when he said it.

“I think Bela could have gotten her recording contract on her own.” Castiel hadn’t been expected to say it, but there it was. He shut his mouth immediately, but it was too late. Balthazar tilted his head to the side.

“You’re right.” Balthazar scrubbed a hand over his face. He took another drag on his cigarette. “The convenient thing is that she didn’t have to. Having a relative at Angel Records was a boon for her career. It made it so that she didn’t have to write a groundbreaking piece of art before a group of people whose opinions mattered would accept her into their little club and pay her for singing the shit that someone else wrote. But you’re right.”

He took another drag. Castiel leaned away from the cigarette smoke. When he was beginning to write music, he might have thought that this was romantic or artistic. That was too kind of a description. He absolutely had a song or two dedicated to the feeling of nicotine buzzing through his veins. Sam hated the smell, though.

“I’m on the board of directors for Angel,” Balthazar continued. Castiel raised an eyebrow in surprise as he took another cartoonishly long drag. “But my opinion doesn’t mean a lot. It’s one of those family businesses where nobody really gives a shit about the cousin who’s on the ‘publicity forum,’ but you can’t leave him out, either. Then what will you do when the media comes to call?” He shrugged and took a drink. “But it’s a paycheck. I just wish they weren’t so… old-fashioned.”

Castiel listened to the thump of the electronic drums from inside. They echoed in the night. “Like with Abbie?”

Balthazar nodded gravely. “Yes, like with Abbie. She’s not… my favorite person that Bela could have fallen in love with. But who am I to judge? I’d fuck twelve different people if that’s what I had decided that night – and it’s unlikely that twelve women would want to fuck an aging record executive.” He grimaced. “Or maybe it isn’t. Either way. I would be lying if I pretended that I agreed with the medieval system of relationships that Angel has produced. I just – don’t care. Bela is fine with the degree of fame we’ve garnered for her, and I’m fine with the paycheck that my cousin gives me. It all works out.”

“And what about for Ms. Dawn?” It came out harder than Castiel had intended.

Balthazar looked at him with renewed interest, his cigarette half a foot from his mouth. Cas avoided his eye contact, watching the paper around the tobacco turn to ash. Balthazar’s mouth turned up at one corner. “It’s unfortunate, the situation that Ms. Dawn has been put into. But Bela is part of the company, you see? I attended a meeting just last week, arguing that she ought to have an increase in her salary. I assure you, nobody on the board was ignorant as to what I was truly saying.” He looked through the glass door back into the party.

Bela danced with her girlfriend near to the doors, their hands clasped and eyes aglow. They looked happy. Cas wondered what it would be like to feel that strongly, that passionately about someone. When they danced, Bela and Abbie curled into one another. It was like a choreographed routine that Castiel wasn’t coordinated enough to learn. The people around them paid very little notice. It was normal. It was something that they expected.

“I see.”

Either Balthazar was too drunk to notice Castiel’s shortness, or he didn’t give a shit. Cas couldn’t decide which was more likely as he was swept into a second hug. “Wonderful! I’m glad that you see my situation. As it is – I don’t know why we’re talking about a second-class kind of act. You’re the one for whom congratulations are in order! I’ve heard that you have quite the award headed your way…”

Under the beam of Balthazar’s smile, Castiel suddenly felt naked in the moonlight and the echoing bassline from the apartment. “I should go back inside.” He hesitated, unsure how to escape the situation without offending someone who seemed to be more important than he was letting on. “I wouldn’t want to offend Bela.”

Balthazar laughed, waving Cas back inside like he hadn’t been talking to him at all. “You’re right! You’re absolutely right. Go back on inside; this party won’t survive without you involved. After all, we are here to celebrate your accomplishments. Good job, sir. I mean that dearly. I am … inspired by the things you’ve created and accomplished, so young.” He looked on as Cas pressed his lips together and slid open the balcony doors.

As it was, the party swelled up around Cas as he rejoined it. The music was still too loud, the guests were still too sweaty. He swallowed back a sigh and looked for someone – anyone – that he recognized. Sam swept into his line of sight, an expression akin to relief on his face.

“Cas! Where have you been?” Sam beamed as he set a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, an empty bottle in the other. “People have been looking all over for you! Not to make you dance, or – whatever,” he amended his previous statement in a late attempt to comfort his friend. “They just want to say congratulations. Also – I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this music is barely your style. I feel like we ought to go talk to the DJ and let him know what’s closer to your preference.” He was still smiling, a vision in tight jeans and red cheeks.

All of a sudden, Castiel realized that he wasn’t happy. This was such a performance – such a cluster of people who were happy to act in order to match the situation. He scanned the crowd. There was no way such a large group of people could be entirely willing to grind up against one another – was there?

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go tell them.” He smiled at Sam, whose posture straightened with either purpose or confidence. It didn’t truly matter, either way – Cas was sure that the DJ wouldn’t give a shit what they had to say. It didn’t really matter if he was a guest of honor – Bela had set up the party, Balthazar was attending to make sure that it fit the standards of Angel Records – what did it really matter what he thought?

Somehow, the idea was a little bit freeing. Cas smiled, reaching out his hand. Sam laced their fingers together without any hesitation. This was right. This was what they did. The two of them against the world – it didn’t matter the bullshit, the junk that San Francisco and Angel and the global market wanted to throw at Castiel and his music. With Sam by his side, there was nothing that he couldn’t do – there was nothing that he couldn’t conquer.

“Hey – Sam?” Cas shouted above the music. Sam looked at him, unsure he’d said anything at all. “Just wanted to say thanks.” Cas grinned in return as Sam smiled, a blush high on his cheeks. “Love you.”

They pushed their way through the crowd. It was less difficult than Cas had been expecting but less easy than he would have hoped (after all, he was suddenly a face everyone wanted to prove they recognized). They trekked through the rhythmic partygoers and stopped short of the DJ – a waif of a man with the most positive aura Cas had ever encountered. He spun each record with a smile and a wave to the people nearest. It was the closest thing Cas had ever felt to comfortable in a sea of EDM and sweat.

“Wait.” Sam’s hand pulled at Cas’ sleeve as he walked forward toward the DJ. He spun back around, a question on his face. Did Sam want to try and talk now? They were too far away from the balcony; there was nowhere to have any semblance of a conversation that didn’t require yelling or sign language.

Sam made a signal to the DJ, who cut the music. It seemed that Castiel didn’t need to worry about the noise level for their conversation at all. There was a groan of confusion and frustration that rose throughout the party, but Sam silenced it as he climbed onto Bela’s dining table, which had been pushed against the wall for the party. His imposing figure was both more impressive with an added three and a half feet, and less so as he bent forward to avoid hitting his head against the ceiling.

“Hello, there.” He waved at the guests haphazardly, like he wasn’t exactly sure what was going to happen or what he was doing. Cas wasn’t sure that he did.

Sam, however, had a gift for making people listen to him – and for making them feel like he had the entire situation under control. “Some party, right? Shall we give it up for Bela Talbot? And for Castiel Milton?”

They hooted in agreement, a cheer rolling throughout the crowd as they heard and understood what he was saying. Sam seemed to be looking everywhere in the room except for at Castiel. Cas frowned. He’d really been hoping that they could get the DJ to play the Macarena. This all seemed particularly unnecessary.

“Cas.” Finally, Sam turned to look at him. The red cheeks Cas had noticed earlier were still there, flushed across his face. He belatedly wondered how much Sam had been drinking. “C’mere.” He gestured wildly for Cas to join him on top of the dining room table.

From the other side of the room, Cas could hear Abbie hollering in approval along with most of the guests. Bela mostly looked nervous about her table. Out of respect for her furniture and his own dignity, Cas took a step forward but stayed on the rug. “Why are you on the table?”

Sam motioned again for Cas to join him on the table. Castiel crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow until Sam sighed. He stooped down and transitioned into simply sitting, his legs dangling off the edge. “This isn’t exactly how I’d pictured this – but then again, none of this has been how I pictured it.”

“What are you talking about?” Cas was suddenly hyper-aware of the number of people in the room. It was hot, in spite of the cold air pumping through the vents. The room smelled like spilled beer and sweat. Altogether, it wasn’t Castiel’s favorite environment in which to be addressed. His favorite would probably be more along the lines of a text message, or a letter. Then he wouldn’t have to look at anyone’s faces. Or come up with a response on the spot.

As it was, both of those things were happening at that very moment. Sam reached out his hand again, which Cas took on reflex. Sam closed his eyes and smiled. Castiel’s hand in his own seemed to have given him the courage he needed to get on with whatever it was he had to say. He took a deep breath, straightening his spine and looking Cas in the eye.

“You are one of the most talented, kind, fantastic people I’ve ever met.” He turned to the room. “I’ve known Cas since we were kids – we’ve been best friends for years. And when he needed to date someone for his career – a career that I’ve supported since the beginning – I was nothing but happy to volunteer.” He looked back to Cas and placed his second hand on top of Cas’. “But here’s the thing. I’m not happy anymore.” He held up a hand before Cas could begin to argue with him. “I love being around you. I love every second that I get to spend in your company. You are the most important person in my life. But this fake … dating, I can’t do it anymore.”

There was a hush in the room. Even the fans seemed to have stopped working. Cas wasn’t sure if his face was hot from shame, or if the rest of his body was frozen in shock. Cas looked down at his feet, wondering if it would be in completely poor taste to simply leave the room. If he’d had the option, he would have simply disappeared, rather than stay in this situation where people could only look at him with pity. This night was supposed to be about his nomination! About his success! And then Sam had to go and say –

“I want to do this for real.”   
  
Cas blinked. Sam pressed on, his words getting faster and faster until they slurred together in his rush to say everything all at once. “I want to hold hands with you at the grocery store, and I want to ask what kind of apples you want even though we both know you like the tart ones best, and I want us to be _us_ , not just what we have – I know that we do everything together now, and we did everything together before, but something about the way we’ve set this up – the way we talk about it, the way that we have to put on a mask that looks like how we already are underneath – what’s the point? Why are we doing it this way?” He squeezed Cas’ hand, smiling. “I love you, Cas. Like your best friend, but like your boyfriend – your real boyfriend. We don’t have to change anything,” he paused, either to catch his breath or to decide where he was going next. It didn’t matter.

The room around them was full of cooing adults, their hands on their hearts. Someone in the back of the room started to clap. The stability of the room seemed questionable. Cas could feel it spinning around him as he snatched his hand out of Sam’s.

“No.”

He whispered it, his cheeks burning. They needed to take this outside. They needed to talk about this, just the two of them.

“No?” Sam’s entire face crumpled in confusion. “But… we’re already doing everything that couples do. We already were. I don’t understand.”

His voice didn’t break. Cas might have described it as broken. “Sam, listen–"

They were too late. Cas might have been able to escape the spectacle if he’d gotten them out of the party a little faster, but this was it. They were the entertainment. A little flare of anger rose up in his chest. The DJ could put some music back on and save them the embarrassment, but he was leaning toward the table just like everyone else in the room.

Sam was not the kind of person to accuse someone of feeling the wrong way. He never would have intentionally made Castiel feel like he had disappointed him, or been cruel. But as he sat there, feet not quite touching the ground, avoiding eye contact – Cas couldn’t help it. He turned around and looked for Bela, who was standing still at the back of the party, a glass of wine in her hand. Her eyes were wide, like she was having a flashback to the last time she’d had a disaster occur at a party she threw.

“Alright, show’s over.” Abbie strode through the crowd, knocking into guests’ shoulders as she went. “Garth, can you turn on the fucking music?”

The DJ scrambled to do what she said, and the party seemed to stutter back to life. She passed by Castiel, brushing his arm gently. Abbie turned a little, just enough to catch Cas’ eye and mouth, “Good luck.” Cas nodded minutely, then pulled Sam off the table and dragged him toward the balcony.  
  
The snick of the sliding door behind them seemed much more foreboding than it had earlier. Cas let go of Sam’s sleeve, turning to face him head-on. The left side of his face was illuminated by the colored lights inside. He fidgeted with his hands.

“Sam, what was that?”

“I’m not sure I could have been much clearer.” He seemed to have composed himself somewhere between the dining room table and the warm air on the balcony. “What was – your thing? I’m sorry, that I did that in there – I just – I thought – ”

Cas interrupted before he could stop himself. “You thought wrong.”

It wasn’t right to be angry with Sam. Sam hadn’t done anything wrong; he stood there, swaying a little in the wind. For a second, Cas thought that the ugly knot in his throat was anger – anger at being publicly embarrassed, anger that Sam didn’t understand this part of him, anger that he had so grossly communicated what it was that he wanted. But as he looked at his best friend in the shifting light, he realized what he’d been feeling for the last several minutes – and it wasn’t anger.

“I think we should break up.” The words sounded so bleak, even in the pleasant breeze. “This is wrong. I didn’t – I don’t love you like that, Sam. You’re my best friend. And I should have known that this wasn’t fair to you.”

He tensed up, ready to field whatever argument Sam wanted to throw his way, but Sam simply looked at him. It was too dark to tell exactly what he was thinking or feeling. Cas noted, far away, that he needed a haircut and immediately felt terrible. This was an emotional moment; this was not the time for an aesthetic observation. He would have given anything to throw his arms around Sam’s neck and kiss him. Castiel was positive that out of all the things he had accidentally done to Sam – forgotten which night they scheduled to see a show, given him food poisoning, skipped out on brunch because he’d slept through his alarm – this was the worst.

There had been a time when he thought that he loved Sam the way that Valentine’s cards want you to. Half of it was Anna teasing him every time one of them had fallen asleep at the other’s home; half of it was not being sure what else his feelings could be. It didn’t make sense for them to be anything else. Everything Sam had professed in a room full of strangers was fair – of course Cas knew how he felt, because he felt the same way. They should spend the rest of their lives together. They should be living in the same home, old and grey and holding hands and smiling as they rocked in antique chairs.

But Castiel knew that he was not in love with Sam Winchester.

“I’m sorry.” He turned to the door and paused, his fingers on the handle. “Do you want me to take you home?” If Sam was going to spend the rest of his night wondering what he’d done wrong, he shouldn’t have to do it in a relative stranger’s home, an hour from his own bed.

Sam shook his head, his mouth not quite closed. “No, that’s – that’s okay. I’ll take the bus.”

Cas frowned. “The bus? To Palo Alto? At – ” He made a motion like he was going to check his watch, before remembering he didn’t wear one. “This hour?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Sam smiled, lips tight against his teeth. “So – what, you’re leaving? This doesn’t have to – I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“Not weird.” Cas opened the door, music suddenly flooding the relative quiet. The party seemed suddenly comprised not of individuals, but groups of two. They each danced like a single unit, like they were meant to be there together. He turned back to Sam and held out a hand to motion him back into the room.

Sam didn’t move, rooted where he stood next to the patio table full of ashtrays. He didn’t say anything as Cas tilted his head to the side in question, just waved halfheartedly.

At a certain point, Cas needed to accept that he couldn’t control the people around him. He nodded once and slipped through the doors himself, closing them shortly behind him. Maybe Sam just needed some privacy. They’d talk it out. It would be okay.

He walked through the dark room, wondering if it was luck that he didn’t need to navigate his way through the crowd. No one looked at him, but they all seemed to turn out of his path exactly as he got to them. Bela stood by the front door to her apartment, a sad little smile on her face. Cas hated it, although he was glad to see someone finally make eye contact with him.

“Hey.” She took a step to the side, not quite blocking the door. “So – how did that go?” She was talking just loud enough for him to understand what she was saying.

He leaned in to keep their conversation as private as possible – not that it mattered, since it would probably be in at least one magazine or shitty online publication in minutes. “Not well. I think we’ll both be heading out, soon. Can you – can you make sure that he gets home appropriately? Or stays here? I don’t think it’s really fair for me to invite him back to my place, in the – right.”

She sighed, but nodded. “Yeah, yes. I can do that. I just – Cas, I don’t get it. I know you’ve got a lot going on, but – I thought that you really did like Sam. Everyone did. When I first met you, and you said that you needed to write things you didn’t believe in, and sing songs that weren’t about you – wasn’t that about Sam?”

He could have explained to her. He could have tried, at least – even if he didn’t entirely understand it himself. But Castiel opened his mouth, ready to tell Bela _I knew that I didn’t want to sing about women, and I knew that I loved Sam, but I don’t think I was ever in love with him._ He was ready to tell her _I don’t know what this is. There’s some empty space in my heart I was trying to fill with something between friendship and romance and instead I’ve just pushed everyone farther away._

Instead, he said, “I need to go.” He pushed past, regretting his aggression as she stumbled backwards in her shiny heels.

It wasn’t fair. He kept looking for different ways to think about it, to be positive – but Cas kept circling back around to that thought, like a frustrated middle schooler.

It wasn’t fair. Sam didn’t deserve this. Bela didn’t deserve this. Nobody at the party deserved this. Cas snorted to himself as he started down the long flight of stairs to get to the street. Maybe he’d write a fucking song about it.


	14. Chapter 14

It would have been foolish to believe that Angel would be anything but furious with the announcement. Cas had refused to come in the day after the party, citing a massive hangover. It wasn’t the most impossible lie he’d ever told. Apparently, after he’d left Bela’s party it had gotten wilder than he expected. He hoped again that Sam had gotten home safely. He realized, after the fact, that maybe leaving him with the woman who shrugged at the drugs being freely distributed at her home was not the wisest course of action. But Castiel trusted Bela. She wouldn’t have let anything happen to Sam.  
  
Of course, he’d also tried to text him and gotten no response.  
  
_Sam? I am just making sure you got home okay._  
  
_Hey, Sam. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to – but did someone get you back to Palo Alto? I know you had some stuff due this weekend and was just hoping that it all turned out okay. Let me know._  
  
_Okay, I’ll talk to you later. I’m sorry._  
  
There was nothing to do but lie in his bed and hope that Naomi would stop calling him. Apparently, there was a higher power, because she stopped after four calls. He checked his phone again. No new messages.  
  
He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall. The framed poster he’d hung across the wall was tilted sideways. The little wooden end table under it had a broken alarm clock and a sheaf of Sam’s notes. Castiel’s heart clenched. Should he give them back? Was it dishonest to continue to use Sam’s words to write?  
  
Thank God the album had been written. He readjusted the pillow under his head. The previous night replayed in his head, like it’d been doing all morning (and all night, if he was being completely honest with himself). It had started so promisingly. This wasn’t fair, for it to all be tarnished by ridiculous interpersonal relationships.  
  
Even as he had the thought, Cas frowned at his clinical term. Sam was his friend. Sam was in love with him. The idea put a sour taste in his mouth as he looked at the poetry across the room. No wonder Sam was such a good writer, he had actual, prior experience -  
  
Cas sat up in his bed, the two pieces of information suddenly crashing together. Sam wrote love songs. Sam was in love with him. Oh, no. He launched himself across the room, skidding against the carpet in his sock feet. Cas reached out pick up the pages, shocking himself on the edge of the table as he sank to the floor and began flipping through them.  
  
How had he not picked up the hints? The themes were all there. He looked through the poetry, his heart sinking. They showed up again and again - ‘blue eyes,’ ‘best friends,’ ‘he doesn’t know” - fuck.  
  
Every time Sam had watched Cas read his poetry; every time his eyes had softened when Cas sang, “I’ve loved you forever and I’ll never stop.” How had he missed it?  
  
Cas put down the papers. He sat for a minute, processing, before pulling his weathered laptop from under the end table. It was already plugged into the wall, and he readjusted his position to sit as comfortably as possible, his long legs stretched in front of him.  
  
Last night, Castiel had walked halfway home, then stopped at a brightly lit convenience store for half a 750 of vodka. The empty bottle lay on the carpet next to his bed, accompanied by an equally empty jug of orange juice. He closed his eyes for longer than he usually blinked before opening them again and entering the password to his computer.  
  
Several websites were already up, none of them full-screen. Cas rolled his eyes at his past self and clicked out of all of them. Dictionary definitions. Resources. Support groups - or something like them. The internet was relatively full of people who couldn’t get themselves to fall in love - and people who didn’t want to. He exited the last window and sighed. Cas wasn’t sure how he’d missed aromanticism as a term - it seemed inextricably linked to asexuality, in so many of these people’s brains. It explained a lot.  
  
It didn’t make him feel any better, though.  
  
He couldn’t stop wondering what could have happened, if things were different.  
  
Three years ago, he could have kissed Sam at his graduation party, a hand in his hair as their siblings complained. He could have written love letters back to him. He could have saved all that time listening to his sister teasing him for being in love - she would have been right.  
  
Alternatively, he could have stopped this. He could have sat Sam down when they were still in high school, told him that he hadn’t ever been in love and it wasn’t going to happen. Every time somebody had patted his hand and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone,” he could have told them they were wrong.  
  
It was a weird kind of acceptance. When Cas had realized he was asexual, it was a weird mix of disappointment and relief. He’d also had Sam there as immediate support, and it had been nice to know that he wasn’t alone. When Sam came out shortly afterward, Cas had briefly wondered if it was yet another thing that meant they were destined to be together.  
  
Now he wondered if it was something meant to keep them apart. He could recall the smell, almost the taste of Sam’s skin or his hair. That was something that happened with romance, right? Cas shook his head. This was going nowhere.  
  
He checked his phone again. No new messages.  
  
Castiel stood up, brushing off his knees and steadying himself against the wall. He had to make things right. He had to at least try.  
  
  
  
The trip to Angel Records did not take nearly as much time as Cas remembered. It felt like he got into the taxi and was immediately in front of the imperious building, heart in his throat. He coughed into his closed fist. There wasn’t a lot of air, suddenly. He felt like he might be coming down with a cold - his lungs seized as he paid the driver and got out of the car.  
  
He rode the elevator in a fugue state, unsure if he’d pressed the right button. The doors slid open on a hallway that looked the same as every other hallway in the labyrinthine building.  
  
He walked to Naomi’s office, resting a hand on the door for a second. Castiel took a deep breath, then opened it.  
  
She was sitting at her desk, laptop open. When she saw him, she snapped the lid shut. To her credit, she did not yell, or chastise him for coming in without an appointment. Her eyes didn’t even widen in surprise. She just gestured to the chair in front of her.  
  
Castiel sat.  
  
“Good afternoon,” Naomi said. She barely glanced at the watch on her wrist, then smiled. “I thought you were much too hungover to come in today?”  
  
“It was important,” Cas mumbled. He didn’t look up at her, staring down at his lap instead.  
  
“I see.” Naomi smiled benevolently. “Might this be about your party at Ms. Talbot’s last night?” Cas couldn’t decide if he was imagining the coldness in her voice, or if it was truly there.

“In a way.” He didn’t look up. “I need to talk to you about Sam.”  
  
“Funny!” Naomi laughed, drumming her fingers on the desk. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. You can’t break up with Sam, Castiel.”

“Why not?” He fired back, suddenly full of anger and upset. “We didn’t sign a contract.”

Naomi sighed. “And whose idea was that? I will not take the blame for – ”

Cas looked up. “I’m not blaming you for anything. I’m not saying that Sam should have signed a contract, or that it’s his fault I need to break up with him – this has nothing to do with my career.”

It was like he had spoken a magic phrase that he didn’t know existed. Naomi grew extremely still, then spoke as delicately as he’d ever heard. Somehow, the fragility of her words didn’t make her sound any less intimidating. It had the opposite effect.

“This has everything to do with your career.”  
  
“Naomi -”  
  
She cut him off. “It does. That is the entire reason we had you find someone to date. It’s the reason we were going to _hire_ someone for you to date. This isn’t a joke to us, Castiel. We want you to succeed. We want this company to succeed. And your personal image is a part of that. What will it look like to the public when you dump the boy you’ve apparently been pining over since high school? Or the one who’s been pining over you? We took a chance on you, and you blew it.” Naomi took a deep breath and smile again. “You need to tell him you’re back together.”  
  
“I won’t. That’s why I came in to talk to you, Naomi. This is wrong. I’m breaking up with Sam, and I want to apologize to him for getting him involved with this bullshit - we have to find some way to make amends.”  
  
She scoffed. “Make amends? You have to find a date to the Grammys! You have three more love songs to drop! Sam should be apologizing to me. He’s fucked my entire schedule.”  
  
Somewhere in the back of his brain, Castiel was interested in the first time Naomi had ever sworn in his presence. He pushed it aside. “I don’t care. He doesn’t deserve this.”  
  
“He deserves everything that the limelight promised him.” Naomi held his gaze until Castiel dropped his eyes. “I seem to remember you saying that you’d walked him through the particulars. Did he have a problem with the attention? He always seemed so willing to talk about you - his interviews are some of the best we’ve ever gotten from a contractual date, especially a boyfriend.”  
  
“Sam isn’t just a contractual date.” Cas huffed. “He isn’t even a contractual date! He’s my best friend. He was in love with me when he agreed to date me for the papers and the cameras.”  
  
Naomi looked at him, her eyes cold. “So?”  
  
Castiel was dumbstruck, for a moment.  
  
“So you can’t say anything about this. I’ll find someone else to date.” Cas swallowed, hard. “I can date Bela. I’m willing; I’ll sign the papers.”  
  
Naomi laughed. He looked at her, not understanding. She sighed like he was a burden. “You can’t just date Bela, now. The public has no vested interest in the Bela-Castiel relationship. It makes barely any sense in the long run, anyway. We would have had to build it up. Instead, you’ve given them something beautiful in the Sam-Castiel relationship, and then torn it away before it had any opportunity to draw anything other than disbelief and upset.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Cas started, ready to argue his point.  
  
Naomi raised a simply manicured finger. Cas hated that it held him quiet with very little work on her part. “It is, though. What you’ve marketed to your fans is love; pure love. It’s something that you can fake, and you can write it out on a contract. What you’ve done now is rip that away from them - even if it is just a fantasy.”  
  
“But it’s wrong.” Cas stood his ground.  
  
She leaned forward, beckoning him a little closer like she was going to tell him a secret. Cas mirrored her movement, until she was barely a foot away.  
  
“I don’t care.” She sat back suddenly, leaving him half-bent over her desk. He straightened up and ground his teeth together. “Find him and tell him you have to stay together. You can even blame it on me.” She smiled like that allowance was a gift.  
  
"No." Cas was surprised at how strong his voice sounded. From the way Naomi's eyebrow arched, so was she.

"No?"  
  
"I won't do it. Sam is my friend." He repeated.  
  
She stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine."  
  
He must have heard her wrong. "What?"  
  
"I said, fine." Naomi reached out her hand. "Give me your keys."  
  
"Excuse me?" Cas put his hand to his pocket impulsively. "What are you talking about?"  
  
She tilted her head to the side, her hand still steady in the air. "Well, it sounds like you're defying the will of the company. It sounds like you don't really care about our business, in the long run. It sounds like you'd rather take care of your friend's temporary feelings than keep your job. So, if you're so sure that you'd like to be let go over something this trivial, give me the keys to your apartment. You know, the one that Angel Records owns?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't kick me out of my apartment."  
  
Naomi laughed. "Are you serious? Have you been paying attention at all? I said it when you first came in here: we own you. We own your music. We own your home. We own your friends. None of this is yours, and if you don't stop acting so impudently, you won't be able to access it at all." She closed her fist and set it back on the desk, a little smile still on her lips. She waved him away, like that had settled matters. "So, I will be expecting you to message me to let me know when you've reconciled with S-"  
  
"I quit."  
  
She froze. "You what?"  
  
Cas leaned back over her table, enunciating each word. "I. Quit."  
  
"You can't quit," Naomi sputtered. "Did you forget what your contract -"  
  
"Yes, I know. You have me by the balls, there's no way I can do what I love - I know. And I don't care. This isn't worth it. I quit." He opened his mouth to say something else, but realized it didn't really matter. Cas raised a hand and Naomi flinched. He waved, a short flick of the wrist before dropping his keys on her desk, walking out of the office, and closing the door quietly behind him.  
  
He walked down the hallway leisurely. Nobody stopped and looked at him. Nobody called after him to tell him to to wait. Nobody noticed him exit the elevator and stride across the lobby until he was outside the heavy glass doors.  
  
Then he was alone.

Cas turned down the sidewalk and began walking. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. No new messages. He held it in his hand as he continued.  
  
He ought to be horrified at himself. He ought to feel upset. He wondered if maybe he was in shock. Cas found that not caring was significantly better than any of his other options, and decided not to question it too much. He looked at his phone.  
  
No new messages.  
  
Cas looked up to make sure that no one was headed for him on the sidewalk, then looked down to type out a text.  
  
_Hey, are you busy?  
_  
The response was almost immediate.  
  
_No, are you okay? What happened with Sam?  
_  
Cas sighed.  
  
_It's a long story. More pressing - I just quit Angel.  
_  
The three dots signifying her response took so much longer than the messages he actually got.  
  
_!!!!!!!!!!!  
__  
Do you want me to come to you? I'm at home by myself - I was just going to go shopping for groceries.  
_  
Cas looked down at his sneakers. Groceries. What a mundane thing. The very idea of buying groceries seemed so outside of the realm of his world at the moment - it was such an everyday task. A chore.

 _Actually, I'm on my way. Could I go with you?  
_  
It sounded wonderful.  
  
He rehashed the meeting with Naomi to Bela as they walked through the produce aisles, selecting slightly green bananas and ripe avocadoes. She gasped at all the appropriate moments, and actually dropped her basket when Castiel said that he'd left his keys.  
  
"Cas - not to point out the obvious, but all your shit's at home."  
  
"I know." He sighed. "That part may have been a little hasty."  
  
"Just that part?" Bela shook her head as she laughed, picking her basket back up. "Do you want me to talk to my uncle?"  
  
Cas frowned. "Balthazar? What about?"  
  
She picked up an onion and then put it back down, searching for one without any dark spots. "I'm assuming you won't be crawling back to Naomi to ask for an opportunity to get your laptop, right?  
  
"...Right." He looked at a potato, a little embarrassed. He hadn't thought that through. If he wasn't going to be able to record anymore - he'd have to look for a new job. The thought was shocking. He hadn't really considered what he'd do after quitting. Reconcile with Sam, but apart from that...  
  
Bela nodded decisively. "I'll talk to him and get your keys back. They won't do anything for like thirty days, probably - it's a legal thing they don't want to mess around with. That would be REALLY bad publicity - 'Recording Studio Kicks Superstar Out Of Home!'" She framed the quote like it was on a marquee.  
  
Cas rolled his eyes. "Not really a superstar."  
  
She pressed her lips together in something like agreement. "Not anymore."  
  
They bought lime, tomatoes, and tequila. Bela pulled her sunglasses down as they approached the checkout line. Cas raised his eyebrow and she shrugged as she lied, "Hungover."  
  
He opted not to obscure his face, and was a little surprised to find that no one seemed to notice. It didn't mean anything - he wasn't recognized every single time he went out. As they waited for the cashier to scan someone's apple juice, Cas looked at the magazines on the rack by the Snickers and gum.  
  
His face stared out from the cover of a magazine, having just spotted one of the cameramen that he recognized as Angel's. Sam was laughing, his face turned and his hand on Castiel's wrist. Cas picked it up, focusing only on Sam. Cas would have known if he was pretending to be distracted. This wasn't for show.  
  
Cas remembered where they'd been - walking home from a coffee shop by Stanford. Sam drank half his Americano before declaring it 'too bouncy,' and Cas had gotten a massive iced monstrosity, sucking it down in minutes. He had seen the cameramen waiting outside and stalled, ordering a water and a muffin that he insisted Sam share with him. Sam had rolled his eyes and picked at the pastry with his fingers. He didn't complain when Cas snagged the pieces that he'd been aiming for - just laughed a little.  
  
They left twenty dollars in the tip jar and got ready to head outside. Cas took a deep breath, steeling himself to face the cameras, and Sam had stopped. "Cas?" He asked.  
  
"I'm fine, just - I'm tired of people always taking pictures of us." He made a face.  
  
Sam had bent over just enough to sweep Cas' hair back and kiss his forehead, gently. "They can't help it. You're beautiful."  
  
Cas closed his eyes, gripping the magazine. How had he not seen it? He placed the magazine back on the rack, backwards. Bela paid for her groceries, insisting that he didn't need to pay for the guacamole makings or the margarita ingredients. She didn’t seem to have noticed his moment with the magazine.

 

"It's been a rough day," she said.  
  
Bela did allow Cas to help her carry the groceries back to her apartment. They walked the three or so blocks, chatting about mindless nonsense on the way. It wasn't the time to get serious - not when Cas was holding a bunch of produce that would easily bruise.  
  
Bela opened the door to her apartment with one hand, swinging it open with the keys still in the lock. They toed off their shoes and headed toward the kitchen with their bags, depositing everything on her smooth, dark counters. "Thanks," she said.

Cas did not respond, just went back to her door to take the keys. He shut the door, locking it behind him as he walked to the kitchen. The keys were heavy in his hand. He dumped them on the counter like they burned.  
  
They finished putting the groceries away quickly, then stood in the kitchen for a minute. "How long does it take to make guacamole?" Cas asked.  
  
Bela shrugged. "I'm English. Ask the internet."  
  
By the time Abbie had gotten home, there were two peeled avocados on a cutting board, a pile of neatly chopped tomatoes, and half a bottle left of tequila. Nobody was in the kitchen.  
  
She took a step out of the kitchen cautiously. "Bela?" Abbie called.  
  
Both Bela and Castiel came sliding out of the hallway in sock feet, giggling a little bit. Abbie stared at them.  
  
"Hi, Abbie," Cas offered.  
  
"Hey, Castiel." She smiled, then glanced at Bela for some kind of confirmation. "So... how are you doing?"  
  
If she had been fishing for details on his relationship with Sam, Castiel chose to misinterpret.  
  
"Oh, I quit Angel."  
  
Abbie had not been holding a glass. She would have dropped it. "What?"  
  
Cas smiled benevolently. That seemed to the be response to most of his conversations today. "I quit. They were assholes and I hate them."  
  
"Are you two drunk?" Abbie looked from one to the other. "Bela. Did you let him get drunk and then quit Angel?" She set down her water bottle next to her gym bag. "Call Balthazar."  
  
Cas waved her away. "No, no. First of all - we aren't that drunk. Secondly - " He paused, trying to think of his second point. "I quit first. Fuck those guys. They wanted me to tell Sam I love him so we keep selling shit."  
  
Abbie sighed. "C'mere." She sat down on the couch, patting the cushions next to her. Bela laid down, her head in her girlfriend's lap. Cas stood uncomfortably for a minute before Abbie pointed at the far end of the couch. Cas sat, leaning against the arm as far away from the girls as possible, afraid he'd interrupt their intimacy. That seemed to be one of his skills.  
  
"Did they take your apartment?" Abbie asked. Cas looked up, surprised she was so blunt. Bela had waited and waited for him to open up about it, making sure he was comfortable with each minute piece of information he'd divulged.  
  
"Yes." He looked down at his lap. It wasn't something to be ashamed of. It had been the right thing to do. He bit his lip.  
  
Bela sat up immediately after Abbie's question. "Abbie. He should move in."  
  
"What?" Cas asked.  
  
Abbie looked up and to the right, considering it. "Would that be weird?"  
  
"Not weird," Cas said. He felt a weird pang in his chest. He wasn't sure where it came from. He considered another margarita before remembering they'd run out of ice. He considered another shot of tequila.  
  
Abbie shrugged. "Then why not? We have a spare room - you're welcome here."  
  
Cas laughed, unsure what the proper response was. "Are - I don't want to be a bother."  
  
She shook her head, completely serious. "You've done nothing to bother us, Cas. You're a good guy. Just don't leave the toilet seat up. I will actually murder you."  
  
"Understood." Cas nodded.  
  
Bela tapped Cas' sleeve. "But first, we gotta get your stuff."  
  
"Okay, yeah." Cas smiled. He pulled out his phone, ready to text Sam the good news before he remembered that it didn't seem like they were talking. He looked at the screen.  
  
No new messages.

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
Untitled – December 15

published by thursdaycas

  
This room hadn’t ever been in one of Castiel’s videos before. The walls were a soothing slate, and there was more than one painting visible, even from the skewed angle the video was shot with. The lighting was softer than Castiel’s usual fluorescent vlogs. The sharp lines under his eyes were still more than evident. He steadied the phone as best as possible, then smiled.

 

  
“Hello.” Cas cleared his throat, aware that he hadn’t said anything yet that day. There were a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He scratched at his jaw absent-mindedly. “It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me. Sorry about that.”  
  
He took a deep breath. A muscle in his neck twitched as he struggled to come up with the proper words for what he was about to say. “I’m going to be taking a break from music, for a while. I want to thank everybody for all the support; I haven’t been around very long and am grateful for all the encouragement and attention that has gotten me to where I am today. I couldn’t have done any of it without you. I just wanted to let you know, from my mouth. Sometimes things get twisted when they go through somebody else.” He smiled, lips tight.  
  
“So – yes. There will be two music videos and a couple more singles coming your way, off the first album, according to the recording company I was signed to. But you won’t be seeing very much of me. I love you all.” Cas waved at the camera, not quite making eye contact. He bit his lip as he reached to turn off the phone.

There were a thousand comments within the first hour, but Cas didn’t read any of them. It didn’t really matter what they had to say.  
  
No new messages.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam was not the kind of person to ignore or avoid something because he was frightened of it. When he checked his phone out of reflex, there were no notifications in his messages. He read everything that had been sent. Sam's thumb hovered over Castiel's name before he pressed the home button and looked at his email, instead.

It was significantly easier to do well in his classes when he wasn't heading to San Francisco three or four times a week to be photographed with Cas. By the end of the fall semester, he had upped all of his grades to A's. Brady said it was a small miracle, but he wasn't surprised - Sam had always been a little blessed.

Although Sam didn't totally agree with that assessment of his academic status (working five or more hours a night on extra credit, studying, and simply getting the homework done didn't seem fair to attribute to divine intervention), he had to agree that things had been looking up for him. The fallout of his breakup with Cas hadn't been nearly as messy as Sam had feared. That awful, sinking feeling in his stomach whenever someone had giggled as they walked by was gone, replaced by the keen paranoia that the lack of eye contact from strangers was because they recognized him. Maybe they pitied him.

The headlines had not been entirely kind to Cas.

TWO-HIT WONDER QUITS MUSIC AFTER BREAKING BOYFRIEND'S HEART

CASTIEL MILTON: FAKED A GAY RELATIONSHIP? TELL-ALL WITNESS!!

CASTIEL'S BOYFRIEND SAYS "I NEVER LOVED HIM... ONLY HIS $$$"

That last one had been taken off stands almost immediately, when Brady had called and threatened to sue. Sam appreciated the gesture, but wasn't sure it really mattered. It wasn't like he was concerned for his reputation as dating material. No one seemed to want to talk to him for anything other than business and school. On top of that, Sam wasn't looking for another relationship. Why would he?

Three weeks into the spring semester, Dean called.

"Sammy," he said. Sam could hear him smiling over the phone.

"Don't call me that."

"Right, fine. So, uh - how's school going?" Dean asked quickly, like he hadn't decided exactly what he wanted to say until that moment.

Sam frowned. "Why are you calling me?"

Dean tsked, offended. "Can't a guy call his baby brother and see how his life is going?"

"Dean." Sam raised his eyebrows and looked down at his textbook again. The words were starting to blur together. "What's up?"

He could hear a voice in the background say, "Just ask him, cher." Sam imagined Dean shooing his husband away from the phone, scowling.

"What's Benny talking about?" Sam asked.

Dean swore. "Dammit, Benny, I had a whole - never mind. Sam, are you gonna watch that music awards show?"

Sam blinked. This was not where he had been expecting the conversation to go. "Don't pretend like you don't know what the Grammys are called. You're not that old."

"This morning we were out of coffee and I made decaffeinated tea," Dean argued. "I'm a senior citizen. But that's not the point. Benny and I were just thinking, that's the kind of solo viewing that might bum you out. You've been working your ass off, you didn't come home for winter break, and I miss you. Mostly it's an excuse to see you again. See if you recognize me, what with my wrinkles and grey hair."

"Shut up." Sam shook his head, a warm feeling gripping his ribs. Brady had been mostly leaving him alone to deal with 'whatever.' Any relatively good friends he'd had before the entire ordeal had disappeared into the ether when Sam had started holing himself up in his dorm room or reserved rooms at the library. It was nice to have someone inviting him out again, even if it was family.

Dean scoffed, pretending to be outraged. "Shut up? Respect your elders!"

"Do you know when it is?" Sam asked.

"Next Tuesday," Dean answered. "Don't worry about school - I mean, do what you've gotta do. But if you don't have any classes on Wednesday, you can stay overnight."

Sam looked up, trying to do the math in his head. "A plane ticket will be expensive. I'll have to pick up some extra shifts at the store, see if - "

"What?" Dean sounded genuinely offended this time. "God, Sam. We've got your ticket."

"Dean, no." Sam sighed. "I appreciate it, but - "

"Shut up." Dean's tone was final. "I'm an engineer. I have plenty of money to spare. If it really grinds you up inside, you can pay me back when you graduate and turn into a hotshot lawyer."

Sam closed his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Only because you're getting so mushy about it."

"God. This is what happens when you do nice things for people. Did you hear that?" His voice got farther away, like he was asking Benny on the other side of the room. "What a shit." He returned to the phone, voice clear again. "I'll email the ticket to you."

"You can use email?" Sam feigned surprise. "Wow, grandpa!"

"I'm hanging up." Dean grumbled, but followed through on his threat.

Sam leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed at his eyes again. He was pretty sure he'd read this paragraph at least four times. Maybe it was time for a break.  


 

 

It should not have surprised Sam how nice Dean's house was.  It was always beautiful, and somehow Sam was always surprised. The Christmas lights were still up, turned on in February.

"They stay up until it stops snowing," Dean always said. It was a nice little cottage with a stone exterior and crawling vines in the spring. Their window boxes were currently filled with snow instead of begonias, but the bright red stood out against the white. The sidewalk had been shoveled that day, but Sam still left footprints in the light dusting of snow. He knocked on the door, shaking snowflakes out of his hair.

Dean answered the door with a grin. "Sam." He reached out for a hug, squeezing his little brother. There was a little pop in Sam's spine and Dean wiggled his eyebrows. "That was a good one. Come on, come in. I made spinach dip." He took a step backwards and motioned for Sam to kick off his boots on the mat inside. Sam followed his lead, peering down the hallway to see if anyone else was home.

"Jo's at a friend's house - they go to school together; there's some teachers' holiday so the entire grade is having a slumber party." Dean reached out for Sam's coat, falling into some domestic pattern Sam didn't often see. "She's doing super well - second grade is trickier than we'd anticipated, but, you know." He paused. "Did I tell you we got a new tv?"

As Sam shook his head, Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him into the living room. A massive flatscreen was already on the right channel, well-dressed celebrities walking down the carpet in sleeveless gowns. He didn't see Cas.

Benny walked out from the kitchen, looking even more built than when Sam had seen him last. "Sam. It's good to see you again." His soft southern accent hadn't changed since last summer, but his apron had. It had an iron-on Starship Enterprise with the words 'KISS THE CAPTAIN' around it in a circle. Sam raised an eyebrow. Benny looked down at his attire. "This is Dean's."

"I am not ashamed," Dean shrugged. "Are the mushrooms almost done?"

"Thirty seconds," Benny confirmed. He winked at Sam and headed back into the kitchen to grab a set of pot holders.

Sam followed Dean onto the couch, sitting against the denim cushions and looking over his shoulder at the kitchen. "Should we go help?"

"No, I'm good!" Benny called from the other room.

Dean shrugged. "You heard the man." He leaned forward to the little casserole dish already on the teak coffee table and took a tortilla chip out of a bag lying next to it. "Eat this before it gets cold."

Sam chose a broken chip and dipped it into the appetizer. He nodded his approval, but was distracted by the screen. A familiar figure in a long silver dress was talking to an interviewer, looking just right of the camera.

"And do you have a date tonight?"

Bela smiled effortlessly. "Of course. My good friend, Castiel Milton is here with me tonight - I had to find someone who looked as good as I did on camera, you know?"

The two women laughed together. "Of course! Did he help you get ready? Some sources say the two of you are living together now - what's that all about?"

Sam wondered what the headlines would say if this interviewer had her way.

SAM WINCHESTER: JUST A PHASE!

Bela looked around behind her. "Oh, excuse me. I've got to go - do you have any other questions, really quickly?"

As the interviewer asked her who had designed her dress, Dean bit down on a particularly loud tortilla chip. "I can't believe you actually know her," he said as he chewed. "She's so fucking hot."

"Really?" Sam made a face.

"Really." Dean nodded seriously and reached for more dip.

Benny came out of the kitchen and set the stuffed mushrooms on an oven mitt.  He sat on Dean's left side against the cable-knit blanket draped on the arm of the couch. "Bela Talbot?"

"Yeah," Dean pointed.

"She is hot," Benny agreed.

Sam sighed. "Well, I mean, yeah, but she's a person!"

"This might come as a surprise to you," Dean started, resting a hand lightly on Sam's wrist like he might startle easily. "But a lot of people are hot."

"God." Sam rolled his eyes and ate another chip. "Do you guys always watch the red carpet crap?"

They nodded seriously. "Of course we do," Dean said. "What if we missed another appearance by a little brother who didn't say anything about being on the red carpet to the rest of his family?"

Sam turned the same shade of red as the carpet. "So sorry."

"Not an issue. We forgive you." Benny grinned as he picked up a mushroom by its fried stem.

The camera panned to another musician that Sam didn't recognize. Maybe they worked in the studio. Maybe they were just outside of the genres he listened to. Sam leaned back on the couch, trying not to sigh loudly. This was a terrible idea. He had been planning on mostly avoiding the Grammys, but Dean's call and a sick sense of masochism had pushed him in the wrong direction.

He glanced at the DVD player. The show didn't actually start for another four minutes.

Sam pulled out his phone and pressed Castiel's name. The last texts Cas had sent him months ago were still there, unanswered. Sam steeled himself as best as possible and typed a text.

_Good luck. We've all got our fingers crossed for you._

He swallowed hard as it sent. He hadn't talked to Cas since the night of Bela's party. When he'd gotten a notification that Cas had posted a new video to his channel, Sam had ignored it.

He wasn't sure if he wanted Cas to see the text before or after his category was announced.

Dean tapped his knee, ignoring the phone. Sam slid it into the crevice between his right leg and the couch. Dean's forehead creased as he showed Sam his own phone, with a list of the performers. "Didn't you say Cas was asked to play a song?"

Sam looked at the list of musicians. Cas was not included. He frowned. He had been sure Cas had mentioned something... "I don't know. I thought so. Maybe I was wrong."

"Disappointing." Dean shrugged. He turned back toward the screen, but his shoulders were tense. Sam waited for him to ask whatever it was he wanted to ask. "So - have you talked to Cas?" Dean mentioned his name lightly, as casually as you could ask about a half-ex.

"Not really." Sam looked down at his lap. "Are we gonna do this right now?"

Benny cleared his throat, shifting his weight like he might be about to get up.

"Stay," Sam warned. Benny relaxed back into his seat. "I just want to watch the show. I wanna know how he did and I don't want to talk about our relationship, or whatever."

Dean nodded. Sam couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved. "Okay."

"Okay," Sam repeated. All three men turned back toward the television and watched Ruby Kristy dance a little on camera. It cut to commercial.

The nominees were unsurprising, if undeserved. Benny groaned at some of the winners, and Dean had sworn excessively. Sam didn't react to any of them. Who cared? "It's all fake," he mentioned off-handedly. "Honestly, these people probably already know who's going to win. At least, the winners probably do. I wouldn't be that surprised if they chose not to tip off the losers."

Benny looked at him with interest. "Why?"

"Because they wouldn't show up," Sam answered. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs as the camera panned through the audience. His heart stuttered as it landed on Castiel, sitting to the right of Bela. He was clapping for whoever had just won Best Rock Song and steadfastly avoiding making eye contact with the camera. The camera cut away just as quickly as Sam had seen him and the show went to another commercial for Velveeta.

 

 

They watched several more performances. Sam caught himself comparing each one to Cas, although only twice out loud. He pretended not to notice Dean giving his husband significant looks in response. They just weren't as good. By the time Pamela Barnes had stepped out to announce Record of the Year, Sam was tired. He was tired of feeling like he needed CPR every time he caught a glimpse of Castiel from thousands of miles away. He was tired of hearing Cas' voice alongside the performers. He was tired of Dean looking at him out of the corner of his eye every time they showed someone in the audience wearing a blue tie.

"And the nominees are," Pamela drawled.

Dean sighed and turned to Benny. "I love her."

"We all do." Sam said. "Hush."

The cameras showed each of the five nominees - Rufus Turner, a two-man alternative band called Zeddmore & Spangler, a girl band named Rosen, Bela Talbot, and Castiel. A short clip of each of their songs played for the audience before splitting the screen into four screens so that their reactions could be recorded. Bela and Cas shared a screen as Pamela opened the envelope.

"‘Anna,’ by Castiel Milton!"

The people around them erupted into applause. Bela shrieked and grabbed Cas' shoulders as she grinned. She mouthed, "You won! You won!" before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and gesturing him forward to the stage.

Cas opened his mouth and left his jaw slack. He picked his way through the aisle, nodding in response to the handshakes and pats he received.

"God, he is not big on smiling," Dean noted. "That hasn't changed, has it?"

Sam thought of Cas laughing and leaning his head on his shoulder. "I guess not."

The applause died down as Cas accepted his golden statue from Pamela. She kissed him on the same cheek that Bela had, and he stood behind the microphone for a second.

"Uh. Hi." He gave a quick smile, then went back to his chronic frown. "To be completely honest, I was sure that Ms. Talbot was going to win tonight, so - I have nothing prepared." The room laughed and he seemed to gather some confidence.

"This has been a wild ride for me. Before I thank anyone, I want to say that I grew up in a small town in Kansas, and I never thought I'd get the opportunity to make anything of myself - let alone to be standing up here on a night like this, holding a tiny gramophone that says a panel of old folks liked my music." He held up the statue and paused for more laughter.

Benny chuckled. "He's a funny guy, isn't he?"

Sam nodded, still leaning forward.

Cas continued, "So to anyone who feels like they have something holding them back - whether it's environment or personal history or even your personality - you should know, it's possible. You can do whatever it is that you love. So thank you to my fans, who are amazing people and whom I adore.

"This is the part of the speech where people thank people, right? I want to thank Bela Talbot and Abbie Dawn, two women who have been nothing but kind to me ever since I moved to the big city. Some people would thank their record labels, here." He looked straight into the camera and moved on. "But most importantly, I want to thank Sam Winchester."

The world seemed to freeze, encapsulated entirely in the thousands of pixels on the television. Cas took a deep breath. "He is my best friend, and he has done so much for me - I could have never done this without him, and I love him. Thank you, Sam." He raised the award in one hand as he walked away from the podium. There was a moment of quiet before the applause began, louder than Sam had expected. Or maybe that was the ocean that had suddenly taken up residence between his ears.  
  
The show cut to commercial again. Dean turned to Sam, eyes wide. “Damn.”  
  
“Damn,” Sam agreed. He was suddenly very glad he sent that text.  
  
Benny cleared his throat. “I don’t want to stick my nose in it, but I thought you said - he didn’t … ?”  
  
Sam nodded, looking down at his hands. “Yeah. That’s what he said - but.”  
  
“But then he said he loves you on live television,” Dean supplied. “Sounds like mixed signals.”  
  
“I suppose,” Sam mused. “I don’t think he meant it like that, though. He also said I was his best friend. That’s the kind of thing you can follow with ‘I love you’ and it’s just platonic, right?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “But neither of you wants to bone anyone, right?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and realized he was still on the edge of his seat. He leaned back into a more comfortable position, stretching his spine. “Irrelevant.”  
  
“Is it?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t want to have sex with someone, and you say ‘I love you’ - that’s gotta be romantic, right?” He turned to Benny for confirmation, who raised both hands to say he had no idea.   
  
“I say I love _you_.” Sam scowled.  
  
“But we don’t sleep in the same bed, or hold hands, or kiss each other’s foreheads.” Dean pointed out. He stretched out his feet and rested them on top of the coffee table until Benny flicked at his knee. “I’m just saying.”  
  
Sam didn’t answer. He and Castiel definitely didn’t act like brothers. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Cas was in love with him. He was the one who’d been wrong - it hadn’t been a scheme to either of them. Castiel told him up front that the dating was phony. Sam was the one who’d taken it the wrong way.   
  
Right?


	16. Chapter 16

Leatherbound Diary – February 18

published by thursdaycas  
  
Castiel sat on a red, contemporary couch in a living room that most people watching his channel had never seen. He was holding his acoustic guitar - the one that made it into almost every video. Fans who had been eagerly awaiting another video shrieked when they opened the link and saw him there, waving at them with a little smile.

_"Hello. I know I said I was taking a break. And I am. But that doesn't mean I don't want to give you a goodbye present. Um. This song’s for everybody who’s ever been unsure about love."_

The words were a voiceover - the Castiel sitting on the couch with the guitar wasn't speaking. He looked down and strummed a few experimental chords before nodding at someone off screen. He tapped his foot one, two, three times before the song kicked in.

The video changed to him in a studio, wearing a different guitar strung up to recording equipment. A thin, older blond man in a blazer stepped into the frame for a second, then ducked out. The camera refocused on Cas. He started humming along with the voice on the track. It split off into harmony - it was soothing, along with the heavy strokes on the strings and the thumping of a hand on the body of the guitar.

The scene changed to a picture of Cas and Sam, laughing on a park bench. The photo was one of the first a paparazzo had ever taken of them. The lyrics started in Castiel’s gravelly baritone. _"Don't sing about my blue eyes - don't write around my name. Put your hand in mine; I hope it feels the same."_

The photos rolled backwards chronologically, all the way through Sam's years at Stanford to their high school prom photos - they'd both gone single. _"Cause I get scared at night; I'm afraid of being alone. Come on and hold me tight - your heart sounds like home."_

The music swelled to the chorus as the fading photos of Sam and Cas' childhood (Halloween, both angels) were intercut with blurry footage of Castiel singing in the dark studio. _"I'm still not sure what love is, but you light a fire in me. I'll tell you all the things you don't know - you can write them in your leatherbound diary."_

A woman's voice joined him on the next chorus - anyone who listened to the radio probably could have recognized it. Anyone who watched television would have known who the song was about, though, and it was not Bela Talbot.

The song cut, suddenly - all the studio instruments and the electric enhancement gone as the video showed Cas back on Bela's red couch. He strummed the last couple chords as quietly as his voice, which seemed very alone in comparison. _"You can write me in your leatherbound diary."_ He clapped his hand over the strings, stopping the music and then gave another wave to the camera. It went to black.

  
  
  


The video had been up for twenty-four hours before there was a knock on Bela’s front door. The inhabitants of the apartment all sat on the couch in the living room, watching a horror film from the seventies. Cas looked at Bela, who looked at Abbie, who shrugged. “Go answer it?” She asked Cas while licking popcorn salt off her fingers. Bela reached over her lap and paused the movie. Abbie clicked her tongue in frustration as Cas got up and wiped his hands on his jeans. He didn’t bother looking in the peephole, but made sure the chain was attached before opening the door. Every once in awhile, fans got a little too crazy for anyone’s comfort level.   
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
The man on the other side of the door did not seem like an obsessive fan. He was short, older, and balding. He was wearing a clean, pressed suit and was carrying a briefcase. When he saw Cas he breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to his chest.   
  
“I was so worried you wouldn’t be here! Since you don’t have a permanent address anymore, we were concerned you’d be difficult to track down.”  
  
Cas stared at him for a second and then looked back over his shoulder.   
  
The man cleared his throat. “I’m Zachariah, and I’m a lawyer from Angel Records. Can I come in, please?” He sounded eager to begin, the cool emotion that Naomi oozed completely absent.  
  
Bela shrugged and motioned for Cas to unlock the door. Abbie sighed, slumping back against the couch. He took the chain out of its latch, and opened the door. Zachariah slithered through the crack before it was entirely open, his smile fixed in place.   
  
“Hello, Bela.” Zachariah beamed at her. “Lovely to see you. How are you doing?” He didn’t acknowledge Abbie, even as she draped herself over Bela’s lap while staring at him. “I didn’t realize you had company.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Abbie lives here. What do you want?”  
  
His smile stayed where it was. This was more in line with Castiel’s experience with Angel. “I saw the lovely video that you made for Mr. Winchester.” He whistled low, shaking his head. “Some impressive melodies, there. Really touching.”  
  
"Thank you."

Bela hid her smile at Castiel's curt reply. He did not follow it up with any questions, letting the conversation die in the air between them. Zachariah let out a heavy sigh, as if he'd been expecting this sort of petulance.

"Are we going to skip right past the pleasantries, then? Wow. Okay. Let's do this, then." He strode past the living room into the kitchen and began unlatching his briefcase.

Cas looked at Bela. They reluctantly followed him to the little table in the breakfast nook. Abbie did not accompany them. He pulled out a folder and neatly lined up several packets of paper. They sat in the bench opposite him, unimpressed with the routine.

Zachariah cleared his throat. "Alright, here's the fun part." He grinned, eyes wide.

Bela tapped the table with one long red nail. "Get on with it, Zachariah."

"No 'uncle'?" He stuck out his lip, pretending to pout. "Cold, Ms. Talbot." Then he turned to Cas, all business. That twinkle in his eye hadn't quite left, though. "This is, obviously, not a social call." He nodded as if it was a disappointment. "No sir, we're all business today." Zachariah shuffled the papers in a particularly big pile before pushing them over to Castiel. "Do you recognize this?"

It took Cas a second. "That's my contract, which is void. Did you change the font?"

Zachariah looked up, delighted. "Yes! Yes, I argued that this was much cleaner." He gazed at the paper for a moment. "Do you like it?"

"No. It's significantly less readable."

Bela stifled a laugh.

"Fine." Zachariah squinted as he gave a much uglier smile than he had before. "Let's get down to it." He snatched the contract from where it lay on the table and flipped open to the middle, where a section had been highlighted. "This is your contract."

"We've covered this," Cas cut in.

Zachariah pressed on like he hadn't been interrupted. "Your contract does not end when you quit."

Cas blinked. "Excuse me?"

The lawyer breathed in deeply, like the sudden confusion and beginnings of panic smelled like brownies or bacon. "You need to adhere to certain requirements pertaining to your termination from the company."

"I'm aware," Cas fought not to yawn. "That's why I haven't released another album, or answered any of the calls I've gotten from other labels, or talked shit about you publicly. Why are you wasting my time?"

They could hear Abbie snort from the living room. It was comforting to know that every room within earshot was tired of Zachariah. He pretended not to notice. "I apologize if that's how you feel, but there's more to this than that." He pointed to a line. "'May not record or release' - what do you think that means?"

Cas frowned. "Is this a trick question?"

"Not at all." Zachariah leaned forward, his hand splayed across the top of a pile of papers and pushing them askew. "Releasing music doesn't mean you get paid for it, Mr. Milton."

Cas stared at him without putting the pieces together, until Zachariah hummed the opening lines to the new song. "Yadda yadda, leatherbound diary." He sat back suddenly, reaching behind his head and leaning his neck on his hands. "So you know what this means, right?"

"I have to take down the video." Castiel's heart sank a little bit. Maybe he could just send it to Sam.

"Oh, no, no." Zachariah laughed. He looked at Bela and pointed his thumb at Cas, like he couldn't believe anyone was this naive. "This is not a cease and desist. I would have written up something pretty for that; you would have seen it by now. No, this is a much juicier house call." He read out loud from the contract, "blah blah blah forfeit the profits and royalties from all previous singles and album sales blah blah blah." He met Castiel's eyes with another grin and a set of finger guns.

"So! Really I just came here to thank you. Before, we were getting sixty-five percent of your proceeds." He paused as Castiel's eyebrows shot up. "Did you not realize that? Oh, Cassie, Cassie. You really ought to have talked with a lawyer before you signed this." Zachariah shook his finger at Cas, that stupid smug smile unmoving.

"But now," Zachariah closed his eyes in bliss.

Bela vibrated next to Cas, her entire body tense with rage. "You're taking everything."

"What?!"

"Every cent, baby!"

Castiel and Zachariah replied to her at the same time, their tones complete opposites. Cas took a breath and continued. There was no way he was going to let Zachariah see him get upset.

"So what are you going to do?"

He regretted asking almost immediately. Zachariah's grin slid to his ears and it seemed like his teeth sharpened. There was no mistaking him for anything other than a shark.

"I don't care whether or not you take down the video. It's ours. Feel free to leave it online. It's probably driving traffic toward your album - I'd have to ask Naomi for the numbers." He examined his nails. There was something in his cuticle and he bit at it, ripping away the skin. "But your one royalty check you got this last month? Say goodbye to that shit."

“I’ll fight this in court – you know that, right?”

Zachariah grinned. “I will see you there.”

There wasn't really anything to say. Cas wanted to argue. He could see that Bela wanted to stand up for him, to spit in Zachariah's face. With their luck, it was probably against some fine print in the contract. They were stuck. Cas was fucked. He found himself hoping Sam would watch the video soon, so he could take it off the internet. The moment stretched until Zachariah slid the contract over to Castiel, patted it tenderly, and stood up.

"It was lovely talking to you," he said. He slid out of the bench and patted Castiel's shoulder as he walked past. Cas resisted the urge to punch him in the face, or the collarbone, or wherever he could reach. There wasn't any point. Zachariah had won. Angel had won.

Neither Bela nor Cas moved, even as Zachariah escorted himself from the premises and the door shut behind him. Abbie found her way into the kitchen, choosing to sit next to Bela instead of where Zachariah had sat. "You really should have read that contract a little better, hm?"

"Fuck you." Cas didn't hesitate in his reply. Bela didn't say anything. He supposed she knew that he was in the right. It wasn't like Abbie hadn't been fired and fucked the same way. He closed his eyes and let his head roll back onto his shoulder. Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve this?


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel was relatively certain that this was his favorite song he'd ever written. It was a fucking shame that he had to release it on the internet for free. And a little more so that he was about to get taken to court over it.  "Don't worry so much about it," Bela said. "Everybody needed to hear this. It sucks that you won't make any money from it, but - it's art. It's out in the world. It means something. They can’t take that away from you."

"Yeah, I know." Cas gave a heavy sigh. "Do you think Sam will at least watch it?" The idea that he could have given away more than his dreams for nothing was devastating.

She smiled. "I'm sure he will." She set her phone down and stopped watching the view count go up. "So - was this that elusive love song?"

Cas thought about it. "I don't think so. It's a maybe song. But I think that's what Sam needs to hear. He wasn't a 'no' to me - he was a 'I'm sorry, I'm confused.' Which isn't what any guy wants to hear, but there we are."

She patted him on the wrist as they sat on her bed. "At this point, it's in his hands. Unless you wanted to text him like a normal person."

He was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence. "It's - we need to meet up. The ball is in his court at this point - I sent him four texts and he didn't respond to any of them until the Grammys. At that point, that's a courtesy text. Friends don't just text 'good luck' with no follow up if they want to keep talking, not after ignoring all my previous apologies." He sighed. "I don't want to annoy him. I gained a lot of baggage in the last couple days."

Bela threw herself on her bed as dramatically as possible, the white silk wrinkling under her body. "Oh my god. I can't handle all this gay drama."

"I'm not gay," Cas mumbled.

"I know, I know," Bela patted the bed next to her until he slumped over beside her. They stared at the ceiling together. "It'd be easier if you were, huh?"

"Yeah. Probably. I don't know." Cas thought for a moment. "Just different, I guess."

"I suppose."

Cas turned over, propping his head on one hand. "Thanks for getting me into the studio, even though it got a little ugly."

She laughed. "Don't thank me. Besides, you did all the hard work. And I did say I owed you one. Now we're even. The next time you're dangling off a cliff, you better be prepared to hand over your firstborn or something - we are zeroed out on the debt frontier."

"Pft. Debts? This is what friends do."

Bela raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Where I'm from, almost everything incurs some kind of debt - even apart from the universe screwing you up the ass in the form of a balding lawyer. You might want to keep an eye out, friend." She flipped over to mirror his position. "Have you found a job yet?"

He sighed, letting himself fall back onto the bed. "No. I - I think I might move back home." She cried her protest and he talked over her, struggling to explain himself. "I just - it seems like there isn't really a place for me here. I'll probably go back to college - numbers make sense. I hate dealing with accounting, and taxes are the devil, but I'm good at it. My family's good at it. I'll make enough money, and I won't be around to terrorize Sam's reputation as a lawyer, if he doesn't want me in his life anymore."

She frowned. "Sounds like you've really thought that through."

"I have." Cas closed his eyes. "No place like home, right?"

She laid back on the bed and drummed her fingers on her stomach until a buzz came from Castiel's pocket. Both of them looked at each other and scrambled to sit up as Cas pulled out his phone.

They craned their necks over it at the same time, and Cas let out a wordless exclamation when he saw the notification on the lock screen.

_I listened to your new song._

It buzzed again.

_What are you doing later today?_

"Answer him!" Bela tapped at his arm impatiently.

Cas slid open the lock and typed out a message, holding it out to her for inspection. She reached out and pressed 'send'.

_Nothing. Do you want to meet up?_

There was barely any wait time at all.

_Absolutely._

Cas sprang out of bed, standing at the end of Bela's room with the strongest grin he'd worn in weeks on his face.

Sam texted back:

_Should we meet up at the Roadhouse? At four?_

Cas held the phone to his chest for a moment and sent a silent prayer to whichever divine being must be watching out for him.

_Absolutely. Yes, I will see you there._

Castiel shouted, pure joy escaping his lungs. He couldn't help it; he wanted to scream and jump and shake someone to let them know - it worked, it worked, it worked.

He looked at the time, in the middle of his grin - two hours. He had two hours to get to the Roadhouse - which was in Palo Alto. So an hour to get ready. He was struck by a sudden worry about what to wear. It felt ridiculous, but incredibly urgent.

Bela held up a hand. "I can drive you. Just do your hair and put on some deodorant."

Cas frowned and sniffed at his underarm. "Do I smell?"

She shrugged. "Not yet, but you've gone through about three different cycles of excitement and worry in the last sixty seconds. If my calculations are correct, you're about to." She pulled herself off her bedspread and reached for her phone on her nightstand. "I'm gonna call Abbie and let her know where we went. She'll be delighted."

"Does she want me out of here that badly?" Cas teased.

Bela laughed. "I mean - yeah." She cut the blow with a wink and gestured to the door. "Go clean yourself up. You have a man to win back."

He would have argued the semantics, but technically she was right. Sam was a man, and Cas was sure that there was some kind of strategy that he needed to make sure he followed. He'd put the ball in Sam's court and Sam had bounced it back - there had to be some kind of rule in this situation. As he headed to the bathroom, Cas screwed up his face. All he knew how to do was write songs, not convince people about his desire for something more than friendship but not quite a romantic relationship.

This was going to be interesting.


	18. Chapter 18

The Roadhouse was not a particularly nice place. It was a dingy bar, noteworthy for its family-owned status and the fact that it used to be a dance hall. People used to flock to it (back then it was called Harvelle’s, and it was known for its owner Ellen, who functioned as her own bouncer). There weren’t enough lights for it to seem safe after ten pm, but that might have been part of its charm. Sam had found that most of the regulars were significantly smarter than they seemed – he’d been trying to get Cas to go there for months.

Cas had shied away from its dark interior and its slight Western theme in favor of even dingier places, where the vodka was exceptionally cheap and the people didn’t want to chat. Neither one of them had any interest in places you actually could dance – not in this decade.

Bela pulled up to the curb with a screech, grinning at Cas in the passenger seat (who was almost positive that he was going to die. Bela was good at many things, and newly perched atop that list was the skill ‘driving over 90 mph while making hairpin turns and not killing everyone in the car.’ This was not a skill Cas had previously had any interest in experiencing firsthand.) “Go get ‘em, tiger. I’ll be back in two hours unless you text me otherwise.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then patted the place she’d kissed.

Cas undid his seatbelt and climbed out of her car, squinting at the light in comparison to the tinted windows. Bela squealed away from the curb in her dark grey Mustang. There was a lightness in Castiel’s chest, like helium he shouldn’t have sucked in. She was a good friend. He looked down at his phone. 3:57. Maybe Sam wouldn’t be there yet.

As he walked in, the light glinted off the few reflective surfaces in the building. The mirror behind the bar glared white. It was right under a broken clock, which had a sign next to it that said, “IT’S THE 21ST CENTURY!!! USE YOUR FUCKIN PHONE.” Cas smiled in spite of himself. It didn’t surprise him that this kind of bar flourished in a college town. He looked down from the sign. Sam sat at one end of the bar, his long legs dangling to the floor. A bottle of beer sat in front of him. He’d ripped off the label and shredded it into a neat little pile of paper in front of him. He caught Cas’ eye in the mirror and smiled, but didn’t turn around.

“Hello.” Cas stopped just short of the bar, unsure if Sam was waiting for him to take a seat in the adjacent stool or if they’d be moving. It just seemed particularly close to the bartender.

“Hello,” Sam teased, his voice lower than usual. “Is that all you have to say?”

Cas blinked, unsure of the proper response, before Sam swept him into a hug. He let his arms hover for a second before wrapping them around his friend. Cas felt himself melt into the embrace and closed his eyes. “I missed you,” he said.

Sam sighed, his breath cool on Castiel’s neck. “I missed you too.”

They stayed like that for a minute, Sam still in the stool and Cas standing next to it before they broke apart. Ellen swept around from behind the bar like she hadn’t been watching them, and smiled at Castiel while handing Sam another beer. “Can I grab you something, sweetheart?”

“Yes. I’d – a vodka, please.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like a shot?” Ellen pretended to look at her watch. “Little early for something quite that heavy, hm?”

He flushed red. “A vodka tonic. Sorry.”

She laughed. “You got an ID?”

He dug around in his wallet for a second before producing his driver’s license. She looked at the photo and winked, grabbing a glass from under the table and pouring a shot of vodka into it. As she sprayed the tonic water into the cup, Sam leaned his elbow on the shiny wooden bar.

“So.”

“So,” Cas agreed.

Ellen placed the glass on the bar in front of Cas and disappeared into the back room. He climbed up on the stool and took a sip. He made a face.

“I thought you didn’t like tonic water?” Sam phrased it like a question.

“I do not.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, but Cas explained before he could actually ask him to elaborate. “I panicked and didn’t think they’d have any cranberry juice.”

Sam snorted, which turned into the most delighted laugh Cas had heard since they’d talked last. “God, I really did miss you.” He took a deep breath. “I saw your video.”

“Yeah?” Cas tilted his head to the side like it didn’t matter (when it was the most important thing he could think about today, maybe ever). “What did you think?”

“I think you probably needed me to sign a waiver to release a bunch of pictures of me as a kid.” Sam laughed. He placed his left hand palm-up on the bar and looked up expectantly.

Cas almost put his hand in Sam’s on pure reflex, but hesitated. “Sam, I think we have to talk.”

“Right, of course.” Sam closed his fingers a little sheepishly. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Us.” Cas cursed himself for being so vague and tried to remedy it, although Sam mostly seemed amused. His small smile hadn’t shifted at all throughout their short conversation. “We kind of left things messy. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Cas, I saw your video,” Sam repeated. “And I talked to Dean. I’m pretty sure we’re on the same page.”

The swell of happiness started in Cas’ stomach and swirled down to his feet. He curled his toes and grinned. Then he frowned as Sam leaned forward, his eyes sliding shut and his lips slightly open. Cas ducked the kiss, and Sam opened his eyes in surprise as he knocked his teeth against Castiel’s forehead.

“Ow.”

“Sam, what?” Cas sighed, a frustrated huff of air escaping him.

Sam put a hand to his mouth, suddenly bright red. “We were not on the same page, then.”

“No, apparently not.” Cas almost laughed, but an ugly little whisper told him that this was not funny at all. Sam didn’t understand. He’d probably never understand. They were doomed to be unrequited whatevers forever, and there wasn’t even any point in -

“I’m aromantic.” He paused. “Or at least on that spectrum.”

And there it was.

Sam shook his head, like he was trying to wrap his head around the concept. “Oh.”  
  
“Do you - it means I don’t feel -”  
  
“I know what it means,” Sam interrupted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
Cas sipped at his drink. “I didn’t know.” He wondered if he looked as cool as he was trying to. As soon as he'd made another face and looked up to hope that the bartender would quit letting them have some privacy for long enough to grab him a different drink, she appeared.

"Can I get one of those?" Cas pointed at Sam's beer.

She tutted even as she turned toward the refrigerator. "Decided you weren't a vodka in the afternoon kind of guy?" She slid the beer over to him and winked. "Probably wise."

Sam fiddled with his bottle. "So - so this whole time, huh."

"Yeah." Cas did not want to talk about this. "I didn't mean to lead you on."

"You - " Sam shook his head. "You didn't really lead me on. There were some mixed signals, for sure, but you made it pretty clear you weren't in love with anybody. I don't know how I missed it."

Cas couldn't help laughing. "I have been thinking that for months."

"Kind of explains why you had such a hard time finding someone to pretend to date," Sam mused. He tapped his chin with his finger. "I thought it was because you were madly and secretly in love with your best friend, but I suppose I can't be right all the time." He smiled, softer than Castiel had been expecting.

It was silly, but Cas needed to ask. "So you're not angry?"

"Why would I be angry? I mean, it sucks, but it's not your fault. You didn't really do anything wrong."

The self-destructive streak in Castiel's skin showed up out of nowhere, taking Sam's kindness as an invitation. "I mean. We did sleep on a single mattress."

Sam closed his eyes and chuckled. "I'd still do that. I'm a little in love with you, Cas, but I love all of you. I always have. I just want you to be happy." He paused. "If you want to take a break so I can try and get over you, or - "

"No!" Cas said a little sharper than he'd expected. The alcohol sloshed in his hand, but didn't spill. "No. I already had to take a break from you. I love you, Sam - I'm just not in love with you." He sighed. "I honestly really miss what we were doing."

"Pretending to date?"

"Um, no." Cas grimaced.

"Writing love songs so that you didn't lose your job?"

"Sam."

He grinned. "I know. Is that not weird?"

Cas shook his head, more sure of this than he'd been of anything in the last few months. "Not weird."

Sam looked down at his hand and reached out between their worn bar stools. Cas grasped it and squeezed for a second. They sat there, not saying anything for a moment while they just held hands.

After a comfortable silence, Sam spoke up. "Okay, I love you, but this does feel weird."

"Thank God."

They let go immediately, wiping the slight sweat off on their jeans and laughing. Each young man took another drink of his beer and let out a contented sigh. There wasn't anybody else in the bar to ruin their moment. There wasn't anyone to look at them twice or clear a throat too pointedly. This was the closest to heaven Cas had ever experienced.

Sam tapped the glass of his bottle. "So - what kind of stuff do you not like doing? I mean. If you're okay where we were."

Cas shrugged. This was the kind of conversation he'd been dreading a little bit. "I'm not sure. Can we just - take it a step at a time?"

"Yeah, absolutely." Sam opened his mouth, hesitating. Cas gestured for him to go on and he continued, shoulders deflating in relief. "So - are we - ?"

"Wow." Cas deadpanned. "Right to that." He took a drink. "I guess I've just always thought of you as my person. Not my boyfriend, not my - whatever. You're Sam and I'm Cas and we go together."

If he had been nervous about that, he didn't need to be. Sam looked at him like he'd just written notebooks full of love poetry and then given it to a friend to scam a relationship for the media - or something equally romantic. He leaned over and gently kissed Cas on the forehead, like he might break something if he was any more forceful. "That sounds good to me."

"You can date other people, if you want." Cas said. He wasn't sure where it had come from - he wasn't expecting to say it. "I would understand."

Sam just looked at him. "I don't think I want to. Who else will write me a song and release it for free?"

Cas winced. "Ah - about that. There's some stuff I actually need to tell you. You need to be 'caught up.'" He did the air quotes Bela had done earlier when she insisted that Sam know about the debacle with Angel.

To Sam's credit, he was very good at not interrupting with anything but soft gasps and sympathetic facial expressions. Cas was beginning to wish he'd told him earlier. It might have helped him avoid sessions with Bela and Abbie where Bela fell asleep after hearing him complain for the seventh time, and Abbie told him point-blank to shut the fuck up.

"Cas - why the fuck did you sign that contract?" His entire face was creased into worry lines. "What are you going to do?"

"I - I'll probably have to move out of San Francisco." Cas was suddenly very interested in the design on the label of his beer bottle. "I'll probably move back to Lawrence. Go back to school. Get that math degree. Things of that nature."

Sam made a strangled sound in his throat, swiveling to face Cas in his seat. "You hated your degree."

"I also hate being technically homeless," Cas said. "It isn't a big deal. Lots of people don't have the music industry work out for them. I was lucky that I got as much attention and success as I did. I won a Grammy! I cannot complain about my time here."

Sam was shaking his head, refusing to even pretend to listen. "You _won a Grammy_! You deserve to stay here. This is where you belong. People love you. They love your music. By not fighting this bullshit, you're doing them a disservice." He crossed his arms. "Let me look at the contract."

Cas scoffed. "I do not carry it around."

"That was not my intended insinuation," Sam said slowly. "Which sort of makes it sound like you do."

Cas glared at him for a moment then sighed. "I don't have the entire thing. Just the bit about the non-compete, which is tucked into the ends of a few different paragraphs." He shifted about in his seat, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and unfolding the pieces of paper. They already looked like they'd been in his possession for the last four years, he'd creased and uncreased them so many times. He slid them over to Sam, like he was worried they might fall apart. Maybe they would.

Sam straightened up, but didn't seem entirely aware he was doing so. He squinted as he looked at the fine print of the contract, eyes flicking back and forth. He scanned the page quickly and gave Cas a look.

"What?" Cas asked.

He did not answer; Sam just went back to reading the contract. Before he'd even finished checking all of it, he laid the paper down in frustration. "Why didn't you show this to me when you were getting it signed?"

"You were in California." Cas rolled his eyes. "Can we please not talk about how I should have paid a little more attention to the things I was signing? I am entirely aware; thank you."

Sam sighed. "I mean - they really got you. I can't believe they won't even let you release free music. It's bullshit."

"I know." Cas pressed his lips together. He'd somehow thought that maybe Sam could pull out a miracle and save him with some lawyerese - that maybe everything could go back to normal. That was nonsense, and he knew it, but the hope had still been there. "Thanks for looking, though."

"Was Bela in your video?" Sam asked suddenly. "I know she sang on it, but - "

"No, I don't think so." Cas frowned. "It was pretty much just pictures of the two of us. You know, since it was a ploy to get you to finally talk to me again. Why?"

Sam tapped the contract in front of him without looking at it. He stared at his reflection in the mirror over the bar instead. "I just thought I might have figured out a loophole, but apparently not. Never mind."

"What loophole?" Cas craned his neck over Sam's arm to look at the paper.

Sam pointed to the section where the non-compete was highlighted. "It says that you can't record or release with anyone other than a representative of Angel - but you'd have to fight pretty hard to argue that she's really a representative of the company over an employee." He made a face like he'd bitten into something sour. "It was a long shot. Don't worry about it - I will figure something out. We'll figure it out."

He took Castiel's hand in his own to kiss his palm, but Sam's lips barely grazed skin before Cas jerked his hand away with a shout. "Oh!" He winced, realizing he'd hit Sam in the face.

Sam mirrored his yell, rubbing at his nose in surprise. "What?"

Cas answered by snatching the papers from Sam. “‘A representative of the company,’ right?” He searched for the words, jamming his index finger into them and leaving a dent. “Oh my god.”  
  
“Cas, what’s happening?” Sam asked as Cas scrambled for his phone.   
  
“Bela helped me record it, but guess who let us into the studio and worked the booth?” Cas asked with a slightly insane grin. “Her uncle.”  
  
Sam frowned. “Who?”  
  
“Her uncle!” Cas repeated. “His name’s Balthazar - he’s on the board of directors or something because he’s related to the head of the company. He isn’t that important, but if he’s on the board -”  
  
“Then he’s a representative,” Sam breathed. “Oh, my god.”  
  
They looked at each other for a moment before falling out of their seats in a mad dash to hug one another. Cas pressed his face against Sam’s hard muscle, a happiness swelling in him that felt like the songs he had been singing while working for Angel. He was going to play music again. He was going to stay in California. He was going to make something beautiful.


	19. Chapter 19

ONE MONTH LATER

 

Bela showed up out of breath. "Hey, can I talk to you really quickly?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and opened the door wide enough for her to slip inside. "Sure. I'm not sure why you didn't just call, but sure."

Bela waved her hand distractedly as she took off her shoes. "Calling wouldn't have done this story justice. Is Cas here?"

"Cas!" Sam called. "He's in the bathroom. I think. Can I get you anything to drink?"

They had a small apartment. It wasn't anything worth photographing, unless you were one of the niche fans who were obsessed with anything having to do with Castiel Milton. It opened into a living room much like the stark white space Angel had provided for Cas months ago. There was a couch, a lamp, and a television. No wall separated the living room from the kitchen, and there was a single bedroom, although this one required opening a door to get to it.

Bela flopped onto the beleaguered couch and waited for Cas. She did accept a bottle of beer from Sam, who rifled through the contents of the refrigerator to find it. "Thanks. I have big news."

"I believe you." Sam smiled, shuffling his homework back into a pile. It would have been rude to continue while they had company. "How are you?"

She hesitated. “I'm good. I just - I really want to make sure that you both hear this at the same time. It's all kind of intertwined."

Cas exited the bathroom, wiping his hands on his jeans. He stopped in the hallway when he saw his former roommate sitting on his couch. "Hello. How are you, Bela?"

She waved away his pleasantries. "I need to tell you something."

He raised an eyebrow and sat on the armchair opposite the sofa. "Tell us."

"I'm suing Angel Records!" Bela blurted. She smiled, obviously pleased with herself.

Sam frowned. "For what? All the things in their contracts, everything that they fucked their musicians over on - it was all technically legal."

She waved a hand. "I'm not suing for that. Do you remember when Cas got you to pose as his fictional boyfriend?"

Sam looked at Cas and grinned. "Yeah. What about it?"

"Well. Cas needed a significant other and they let him date a boy. When I needed a partner, and when Abbie did, they refused to let us go public with our actual relationship." She beamed. "I'm suing for discrimination."

Sam laughed out of surprise, amazed at the sheer brilliance. "Oh, my god."

She smiled and motioned for Cas to join her on the beat-up couch. "Right! It's kind of one of those back-end deals. I have so much support from other artists that they fucked over, there's no way I can't win." Bela beamed. "I almost feel bad, fighting a legal battle against my family, but at the same time - I don't care at all. You know?" She closed her eyes and sighed. Cas could almost feel the happiness coming out of her pores.

"I hope you dismantle their entire operation." Cas patted her knee.

"Their entire operation?" Bela scoffed. "I hope that every single one of those sons of bitches ends up having to sign contracts they don't understand. I hope that every single one of them gets fucked up the ass with a - "

"Gotcha, gotcha," Sam interrupted hurriedly. "I hear you. Honestly, if you have the testimonies of a bunch of other former employees - it isn't at all out of the question that you'll be able to make a strong case for discrimination. It's just the truth, after all. Besides - they're based in San Francisco. How the hell are they going to argue that they weren't being gay-friendly?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! Exactly. It is looking so promising. I wanted to ask, though - would the two of you be willing to contribute to my case? You're kind of key witnesses, and - "

"Absolutely." Sam interrupted her with a lopsided smile. "We would love to."

Cas just smiled at him. He hadn't needed to ask. This had been Castiel's dream for the last few months. Bringing Angel to justice wasn't a fun daydream anymore - it was something that needed to happen.

Bela smiled, pulling herself off the couch. "Thank you. I can't stay very long - I need to meet Abbie in San Francisco – we’re getting dinner. I just wanted to talk to you, and thank you, I suppose." She reached out her hand to Cas, who caught hers in his own. She pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles and grinned before gesturing to Sam. He pretended to sigh, but let her hug him tightly and kiss his cheek. "Thank you guys - I just - " She shook out her arms, trying to ground herself again. "Thanks. You've made a difference and - thanks." She waved as she left, the door slamming shut behind her.

Sam raised his eyebrow and Cas shook his head, laughing silently. "It's five o'clock. Too early for dinner."

"Never too early for cuddling, though," Sam answered as solemnly as possible. He couldn't help the dimple in his cheek or the smile implicit in his eyes, though.

Cas motioned to the bedroom. Sam led the way. They didn't have to pass through a curtain of beads, like at Castiel's old apartment.

There was only one bedroom. That was okay. At the beginning, maybe it had been a little odd. There was only one bed, after all.

Sam flopped onto the bed, looking over his shoulder with the most mischievous glance he could muster. Cas was close behind, but not with his body or a penchant for cuddling. He gathered his guitar from its stand and settled onto the edge of the bed, tapping the underside of Sam's knee until he sat up.

"Are you really going to write something right now?" Sam asked.

Cas didn't answer, but hummed the notes to tune his guitar. "My - my dog has fleas - "

Sam sighed, resting his chin on Castiel's shoulder as he readjusted himself. "What are you writing?"

"Another song about you." Cas grinned before he strummed a chord. It sounded right - not just clear, but relevant. This was the way he wanted to start a song about Sam, with his subject sitting over his shoulder and helping.

The guitar continued, and Sam's head on his shoulder felt less and less like a physical weight. Cas closed his eyes and continued the chord progression. He hummed along with the music, quiet enough that Sam didn't feel like he needed to harmonize.

 _"Tell me a story,"_ he sang quietly. Sam closed his eyes. _"Tell me about who you used to be._

 _"Sing me a lullaby; sing me a melody."_ He turned to his right and kissed the tip of Sam's nose, which turned red immediately. Cas grinned in triumph before continuing.

 _"There was a prince and a castle - he ran up against stone walls and his heart. He sang them a lullaby,"_ Cas sang _. "He sang about us."_

Sam didn't move his head, just sighed in contentment. Cas stopped singing, just humming the melody as he strummed, increasingly quietly. Sam leaned closer as he listened, unwilling to change his position. Cas smiled.

If he'd been someone else, he might have called it a love song.


End file.
